


soul affinity

by xeadasreign



Category: Winx Club
Genre: Angst, Drama, Soulmates, griselda knows everything, like in canon icy's gf has lots of dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22535638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xeadasreign/pseuds/xeadasreign
Summary: “miss griffin and miss faragonda turned darcy and stormy into ball & chain, and you carried your beloved back from the battlefield.” / aka Icy is sentenced to death and Bloom isn’t dealing with it so well. Also Griselda knows everything.
Relationships: Bloom & Icy, Bloom/Icy (Winx Club)
Comments: 58
Kudos: 134





	soul affinity

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my novel. *yells* A few things: 1) When Bloom is in her civ outfit, you should be picturing her T-shirt and jeans from season one, though this takes place after season three. 2) The tracklist for this fic can be found on my Tumblr. 3) And while we’re talking about fitting music, do yourself a favor and check out literally anything by PVRIS. I lowkey think Bloom & Icy are Lynn’s inspiration for her lyrics, just saying.
> 
> If you enjoy this fic, I would very much appreciate it if you left a comment/kudos. Happy reading!
> 
>  **Usual Disclaimer:** I said what I said about seasons 1-3, but a bitch is not complaining about that bit from s8 where ***SPOILERS*** the girlfriends team up to destroy Demon Douchekabab. Petition for _One Thing Right_ by Marshmallow x Kane Brown to be Iginio’s 2019 anthem.
> 
>  **Proper Disclaimer:** I’m joking about this being my novel. Winx Club does not belong to me. All rights to their proper owners.
> 
>  **Warning:** Rape (not between the girlfriends) is briefly alluded to. Graphically violent situations, brief attempted self-harm, and various elements of suicide (including a very unhealthy way to think about suicide) are also present. Please use discretion.
> 
>  **EDIT:** I realized there were some weird ass typos/random bits missing from this posting whereas that was not the case in my FFN posting?? I don't know what that was about, but I fixed the parts I caught thus far. Time will tell if I find more. Smh...

.

 **soul affinity** by xeadasreign

.

* * *

.

“your heart knows things that your mind can’t explain.”

—unknown

.

* * *

.

MONDAY

.

the one small mercy life has decided to show her is that all her friends are gone when it happens.

she doesn’t have to fake her reaction to match their elation, and she supposes that’s a really big deal because it’s completely involuntary when she gets up from her spot in the library and rushes for the nearest restroom. there is no way she could’ve celebrated and accepted everyone’s high-fives and hugs when her insides are more honest than she could ever hope to be.

a couple underclassmen who weren’t around for the most intense parts of their journey, who only know the highlights reel (probably learned it in freaking _magical history 101_ because it’s an actual part of the history of magix now, their entanglement in each other’s lives is written in stone and neither one of them can ever erase it), turn toward her with stella-worthy megawatt smiles. _bloom! did you hear the good news?_

they turn into blobs of color as her vision blurs and she pushes through first the restroom door and then a stall door and then she loses the room, seeing in instead of out.

the headline in all its loud finality flashes behind her eyelids as she drops to the floor and pulls back her hair.

**WHISPERIAN COVEN LEADER SENTENCED TO DEATH**

bloom throws up.

##########

stella calls twice, flora once, sky once. bloom lets them all go to voicemail, and then she doesn’t check her voicemail because she doesn’t want to hear the celebration in their voices. (and besides, only stella utilized the messaging service. both times.)

for a while bloom just lies there on her bed and tries to remember how to breathe. it’s not going so well.

she was in the library late tonight, managed to make herself take a quick break for dinner, but soon after she was back at it, pouring over her study books at what’s become her signature table. she wasn’t done for the night, but then word broke and her lasagna made its second appearance and suddenly she was very much done for the night.

she’s supposed to be using this solo time to develop her enchantix, make it complete and just as strong as that of her friends. that’s why she wasn’t allowed to go back out on their current mission; it was _too dangerous_ for someone lacking in the ‘final fairy form’ department. she resented miss faragonda when she made that announcement two saturdays ago, but now she couldn’t be more thankful.

when it becomes apparently clear she won’t be coming across any oxygen lying down, bloom starts to pace the room. there’s a flicker of a temptation to drink until this doesn’t matter, but her luck she’d get drunk and it would still matter _and_ she’d throw up some more, so that idea is out.

but that means she has to deal with it.

*

she never planned to deal with it.

she never thought she’d have to.

but the execution is next wednesday, so she thinks maybe she should.

.

* * *

.

TUESDAY

.

they are only fifteen minutes into her solo session when her headmistress notices something is off with her today. it’s the lack of coordination that gives her away; she’s not managed to land a hit yet. for that, she has to thank the restless night of (attempted) sleep she suffered through until about four in the morning, at which point she accepted it wasn’t happening, at which point she got up and stress-cleaned her dorm until it was time for this: enchantix lessons with faragonda. griselda is also here, but not of her own volition.

 _enchantix bootcamp_ , faragonda called it. for the three weeks her friends were off using their normal enchantixes to _save the world_ , she was to be excused from all her usual classes to focus on priming her incomplete enchantix: hands-on combat sessions outdoors in the mornings; theory or “independent study” in the library in the afternoons. theory would always be on her own, but combat would switch off. week one would be defense with griselda, week two: offense with faragonda, and week three: a combination of both. and yet somehow, both professors simply _had_ to attend every session, something about observing their non-areas of expertise to get an idea of how to plan for the final week. the look on griselda’s face when her superior announced _that_ one was something else. bloom could not recall ever seeing her head of discipline try so hard to bite her tongue.

and truthfully, bloom got it. she’d already missed so much of the junior year curriculum due to valtor wreaking havoc left and right, resulting in bloom and her friends leaving campus every other day for sometimes lengthy periods of time. he was dead for two weeks when miss f pulled them from their regular classes and sent their group on an unrelated mission expected to last three weeks. they were only a few days in when bloom’s lacking enchantix nearly got them killed and they had to return to school. it was a tough loss, one she’d rather not think about. it was at that point miss f decided she would send the girls back out the next week, sans bloom. bloom had to stay here and work on her _issues_. she didn’t know how she’d get _caught up_ -caught up on her classes when she was finally up to speed in the enchantix department.

so, yeah. griselda reserved the right to be annoyed. not to mention she had her own stuff she would probably rather be doing, important stuff like teaching her regular classes and handing out detentions when she didn’t like how someone breathed.

“this is quite a step down from yesterday, bloom.” miss faragonda frowns. “is something bothering you?”

bloom wonders if she knows. surely the professors know if the students know, except _they_ probably got the courtesy of a phone call from the magix court.

she wonders if they knew before the headline hit.

for her response, bloom settles on, “i didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“you weren’t out past curfew, were you?”

“no, just some insomnia is all.”

but it’s that question that makes her realize _griselda_ should’ve asked that by now. she sneaks a peek and finds her head of discipline studying her with interest.

“i see.” miss faragonda continues to frown. “well, do see nurse ofelia for some nighttime tea. i want you to get the most out of these sessions. after all, griselda and i have put a lot on hold to see to it you receive the proper training.”

“yes, ma’am…”

“go ahead and break early. and walk a lap around the school. it might wake you up.”

maybe, but she doubts it’ll do much for the churning-sick feeling that’s been in her stomach since last night.

she turns to start her lap and catches griselda’s eye on accident.

the older woman looks away, disconcerted.

##########

instead of independent study, bloom decides to take some liberties with her library time that afternoon.

she’s approaching the catalog when amaryl breezes in through the front door, causing bloom to immediately stop in her tracks.

the strawberry blonde smiles sweetly at barbatea and hands her a note. then she heads bloom’s way and gives her a once-over. “you look tired. something bothering you?”

ah, amaryl.

while bloom and her friends were off skipping school to fight a psychopath, amaryl was settling into her role as alfea’s _office aide_. graduation was approaching, you know (hardly; they had more than a year and a half to go), and amaryl had her sights set on interning for the downtown magix law firm as an administrative assistant. she needed something to put on her resume, so she’d fought tooth and nail last school year to get this added as an elective—if _beta academy_ had it, they had to, too. student council got the job done, and she was the only person who put it on her scheduling card, so now she is alfea’s office aide, someone to deliver notes and sort papers and field calls and such for two periods a day.

having a title has only made her more annoying.

“nope,” bloom chirps. “all good here.” she barely knows amaryl outside of the fact she has a rivalry with stella, but through that bloom has seen enough to know her question is not innocuous. it’s a fake-nice way of saying she looks like shit, which, yeah, she probably does.

but at least her room is clean.

“i bet,” amaryl continues. “you’re so lucky, not having to attend classes or take tests or do homework like the rest of us.”

_yes, how lucky am i, the only girl in our grade who couldn’t earn her enchantix the right way because her planet’s entire population is dead._

bloom forces a smile and says, “i’ll see you later, amaryl,” before slipping into a random aisle. being best friends with stella should not automatically shift the target onto her back when the princess of solaria is unavailable, but amaryl seems to think otherwise.

bloom waits and waits and waits but amaryl doesn’t _leave_. instead she strikes up a conversation with barbatea which means both the catalog _and_ the librarian are out.

it takes fifteen minutes to find the book she’s looking for without assistance.

_the history of magix: current and up to date._

bloom skims over the stuff about her—the long-lost princess of sparx, found—and goes to the chapter titled _the war for magix_ and then she goes to the subheading about _them_.

_the battle of fire & ice._

whoever wrote this made sure to include exactly how long their fight lasted (twenty-six minutes), decided it was imperative to mention bloom was unharmed and icy was unconscious, but failed to mention just _how_ they returned to alfea.

bloom puts down the book and thinks about that. she could make it deep—the author didn’t want to anger future fairy readers with the detail of bloom displaying such public intimacy with an evil witch as it may cause division among the light side—but in all honesty, the author probably did it because he couldn’t explain why bloom had done it.

for a long time, bloom didn’t know either, couldn’t remember what had inspired her to carry icy back to school.

and then the red fountain codex piece disaster happened.

 _no._ bloom shuts her eyes and then the book and then she opens her eyes and places the book back on the shelf. she’s still not ready to go there.

*

she’s still not ready to go there, but the execution is in eight days, so she gets the feeling her readiness is becoming irrelevant.

.

* * *

.

WEDNESDAY

.

it’s three in the morning when bloom thinks she maybe should’ve picked up that nighttime tea.

as it is, she didn’t, and her mind is still going a mile a minute.

there were times, in those two weeks things had gone back to “normal” around here, when she would start to try to work it out. it was almost subconscious, how she let the thoughts in, but the moment she realized what she was doing, she shut them all out and didn’t let herself go there.

now she’s sleep-deprived and can’t put up much of a fight.

it felt good to kill darkar. she didn’t have a problem saying it. the man wasn’t even a man; he was a skeleton/bird/monster/ _thing_. there are gaps in her memory of her time in shadowhaunt and she gets the impression that’s for the better. he turned her into a mindless dark zombie—he shut away her personality, which was invasive enough—but she can’t prove he didn’t do more. he threatened to _eat_ the pixies, he ran layla off a cliff… she’d say she’d kill him again, but that would first require him to rejoin the land of the living, and she would easily rather kill herself than wish _that_ upon humanity.

it felt good to kill valtor. she also didn’t have a problem saying that, despite the fact he had a “human” form. it was nothing but an illusion; his true form was monstrous, too. he was a demon who caused so much destruction to so many kingdoms, not to mention his favorite hobby was mentally tormenting her with lies upon lies about her parents. she put the entire magical dimension in danger by allowing him to live that day in the library because she was worried her parents were _inside of him_ (she groans; she could vomit all over again). once she knew the truth, the rage was so all-consuming, she felt like she would explode with her hatred for the—once again— _thing_. killing him was like cleansing herself, ridding herself of the toxins that had polluted her consciousness for a month and a half, alerting her of his disgusting magical existence. pure, unadulterated _relief_ flooded her veins the moment that awareness left. it was no secret bloom was glad it was she who got to snuff out the last of that demon’s flame.

and then there was icy.

##########

after she sucks at combat for the second day in a row…

after she gets a scolding for skipping out on the nighttime tea…

after she promises miss faragonda she will get it today for sure…

after she slinks out from under griselda’s still-suspicious gaze…

bloom walks across the courtyard and takes a seat near the edge of alfea’s surrounding woods for her morning break.

a couple minutes in, someone approaches.

“hey, bloom. mind if i join you?”

she turns.

mirta.

the transmagic fairy stands a few feet behind her, books resting in the crook of her arm. she shields the sun from her eyes and waits for the OK to sit.

bloom considers it. her phone is currently off, buried at the bottom of her sock drawer. she’s been isolating herself an unhealthy amount, even for her. it probably wouldn’t kill her to have some peer socialization. and mirta isn’t inner circle; she should be safe. she shakes her head and pats the patch of grass beside her.

“thanks.” mirta sits and lays her stuff off to the side. then she reaches into her pocket and extracts a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. she is halfway into lighting up when she suddenly smiles sheepishly and asks, “you mind?”

it’s wild, bloom thinks, how much mirta has grown into herself since transferring to alfea. she was a sort of stella: she found her group of friends with girls who were technically a year younger, since mirta had to repeat her freshman year, this time taking fairy classes. she’s adjusted well to the social scene and seems more comfortable in her own skin.

bloom is happy for her.

she shakes her head again, surprised. “i didn’t know you smoke.”

“bad habit i picked up my one and only year at ct.” she lights up and blows the smoke out slow.

bloom watches it cascade up, up, up into the atmosphere. she wonders what the health risks are for magical beings who smoke since cancer is solely an earth thing. human harm aside, she wonders how many fights flora has gotten into with mirta over this _harm to the environment_. then she wonders how many angry texts she has from stella for not answering her messages and she decides, no, she doesn’t want to think about her friends right now.

she lays back in the grass and closes her eyes. minutes tick by and it’s nice, the quiet presence of someone—some _thing_ —other than her own thoughts. she could do this, hang out with mirta between her enchantix stuff. it’s okay, it offers her even the tiniest distraction from all the chaos in her head, and—

“so i guess you’ve heard, huh?”

mother _fucker_.

bloom takes one, two, three beats to decide how to respond. she hasn’t when mirta continues.

“of course you’ve heard. the court probably told you in private before the rest of us found out.”

the memory of her rushing to the bathroom amongst the throng of students congratulating her resurfaces, and suddenly bloom wants to go back to one-on-one time with miss f and griselda.

and then, as if mirta has somehow misread the situation badly enough to think bloom _wants_ her to keep going, she confesses in a tone darker than bloom has ever heard her use, “i’m glad. she fucking deserves it.”

bloom flinches in spite of herself, and she realizes this is it: she has to perform for one of her friends. she pushes herself up into a sitting position and nods. the vibe she’s going for is sympathetic, but she’s fine with missing her mark so as long as mirta doesn’t see through her. “makes sense. you _did_ spend a good bit of a semester in our dorm as a pumpkin.”

“that’s not why,” mirta says immediately, turning toward bloom. there’s silence while she apparently decides—joy!— _she wants to elaborate._ “…lucy. lucy is why.”

bloom wonders if she’s a bad friend for not getting what mirta means by that. has she explained this to her before and bloom just wasn’t paying attention?

but no, apparently mirta is only playing up the dramatics because then she launches into her tale.

“when lucy and i first entered cloud tower, we were inseparable. _besties for the resties._ that changed as the year went on. lucy became so obsessed with fitting in with icy and her _clique_ …” she shakes her head. “she couldn’t see they were never going to accept her.”

the goth fairy drops her cigarette and grinds it into the ground with the heel of her boot. “and then the miss magix pageant happened.”

bloom’s piqued interest gets the better of her and she asks, “what happened at the miss magix pageant?”

mirta looks at her, deadpan. “you don’t remember? the most _beautiful_ contestant beat stella for first place and then ‘randomly’ changed form on stage?”

wait. _wait_.

bloom remembers that bit. she recalls the rude, ultra-perfect contestant who was crowned over stella… for all of two seconds before being caught out for cheating. and she remembers seeing icy and her coven backstage…

apparently mirta can see the wheels turning in her head because she says, “ _yeah_. icy just approached her out of nowhere one day and offered to help her win. and then she humiliated her for no reason other than she was bored, i guess.”

bloom is taking in these newly-fitting puzzle pieces so she’s caught off guard more than she would’ve been, anyway, when mirta speaks her next words.

“lucy tried to kill herself after that.”

bloom’s heart lurches into her stomach. “she did?” she whispers.

mirta nods the affirmative. “i found her. everyone was so mean to her about the pageant thing, she was the laughing stock of the whole school, more so than even me… and she cared about that stuff, being liked by other people… she couldn’t cope. and then she started pushing me away, and—”

she shakes her short burgundy hair, flips out another cigarette, lights up a second time. “anyway. i’m glad. i think it’s ridiculous it took her freeing a fellow lunatic for them to do what they should’ve done a long time ago, but nonetheless, i’m glad. may the queen witch-bitch burn in the flames of ryhala for all eternity.”

bloom sits there, a ton of lead materializing in her stomach. she lets it slowly lower her back onto the lawn. time passes and mirta says she'll catch her later and bloom still lies there. she lies there so long faragonda comes to retrieve her.

if she couldn’t concentrate during their sessions before, she really can’t now. because now she has a new, worse truth playing on a loop in her brain:

_it doesn’t change anything._

sick, sick, sick.

she is so sick.

##########

nurse ofelia gives her a few packets of nighttime tea and sends her on her way, except by this point, bloom isn’t much in the mood to do independent study, to brave her table in the library where she’ll have to be around more people who might want to chat with her about the _news_. this is probably why, for the first time in her three years at this school, the alfea choir catches her attention.

the auditorium doors are propped open and through them filters a chorus of melodious voices coming together as one:

_cuz i've done some things that i can't speak…_

_& i tried to wash you away, but you just won't leave…_

she walks in. they’re practicing for their winter concert. the lights are dimmed, and miss battaglia is conducting from the floor. some of the girls are up on the risers while some are floating around in synchronized motion. bloom has seen fliers around for this. this season’s show is called _longing in dreams_ , and—

she could use a couple hours to numb her brain.

she finds a seat hidden in shadows in the very back and slinks down so she can see the ensemble but the ensemble can’t see her. she recognizes the song as halsey’s _haunting_.

_you've got a fire inside, but your heart's so cold…_

the choir finishes that rendition of the song and battaglia is giving them tips for the next go-round when bloom’s stomach growls. her eyes widen and she sinks down even lower in her seat and presses her arms firmly against her abdomen. eating has essentially become a thing of the past. she’s on day two of no lunch and (she suspects) no dinner. it’s hardly a choice; the memory of her lasagna coming up is too strong.

she’ll eat some walnuts when she goes back to her dorm.

the girls start into the song again and (without meaning to; she’ll blame the lack of proper nutrients later) bloom finally allows her mind to go where it wants to go.

*

maybe it’s because icy was the only one to tell her the truth.

it’s the only possibility bloom has ever come up with that is even close to any semblance of sanity.

miss faragonda had her suspicions. daphne knew and strung her along the entire school year, and more than that: if stella and knut could accidentally fall into earth’s atmosphere at random, certainly daphne could’ve found a way to reach her before she entered magix. her adoptive parents lied to her her entire life. different category of lies but sky failed to mention his real name or status or the fact he was _engaged to another woman_ the entire semester and a half they sort-of dated.

even when icy tricked her by messing with her book, it was wholly intentional and unapologetic and—like everything else she did—for her ultimate goal. there was no “i was just trying to protect you” or “i didn’t know how to tell diaspro we couldn’t have sex anymore” bs.

_i'm begging you to keep on... haunting…_

_i know you're gonna keep on... haunting… me…_

icy was honest with her.

it’s the reason that scares her the least.

and it’s plausible, that _could_ be why, but bloom doesn’t think so.

.

* * *

.

THURSDAY

.

ofelia’s nighttime tea makes her sleep, alright. what it does not do is shut off her brain.

it’s just one nightmare after another.

lucy, standing on the edge of the highest part of cloud tower, dangling her foot over, testing, trembling. icy, floating in midair, watching, grinning. lucy jumps and icy turns away, quietly satisfied. this isn’t even worthy of her signature cackle. it means nothing to her.

belladonna and her sisters circling icy in a pitch-black abyss with flames on every side— _ryhala_ —screaming at her for failing to complete her destiny, promising her an eternity of torment. even with angry red marks on her neck that fade into a dead, bluish-purple, icy tries to look tough, unbothered, but bloom can _feel_ her fear and the breath-stealing pain she experienced before she ended up here.

there’s one that isn’t fabricated by her subconscious. it’s a memory. the battle of fire & ice. she and icy circle each other above the lake. they throw attacks back and forth, back and forth. and then bloom breaks free of the giant ice tower icy’s just encased her in and she can’t control her rage and, and, and—

she forces herself to wake up. sweat is dripping off her forehead, pouring down her back, soaking through her pajama top.

she is not going to combat today.

##########

she is not going to combat today, and she’s sorry about it, really she is, but she’s feeling quite under the weather—yes, she tried the nighttime tea; no, she’s not just secretly tired (she’s _exhausted_ )—so yes, of course she will go see the nurse, and yes, of course if she’s feeling up to it later, she will attend independent study.

before she goes to the nurse’s office, though, she makes a quick stop at the library.

##########

nurse ofelia does all the standard tests and ultimately tells bloom she’s running a fever (she’s not shocked) and to lie down for a while.

so she does that and then she waits.

when ofelia gets distracted with some paperwork, bloom reaches into her bag and takes out the book she borrowed without borrowing.

 _a comprehensive history of witch covens_.

she learns there have only ever been two successful covens known to the magic dimension, both whisperian. the first was led by belladonna; the second, by icy. all the others were copycats with no original blood in their veins, and they failed, largely due to their lack of proper leadership.

she learns about the bond, about the ritual in the woods required to turn the coven members into coven sisters. she draws a mental comparison between icy and nancy downs from _the craft_ , if nancy was pretty—

_whoa._

bloom’s stomach flip-flops. she’s caught herself off guard and has to take a moment to process.

it’s not that she’s lived every moment up until now unaware of icy’s beauty. it’s just that icy is such a contradiction. before her, bloom hadn’t known someone could be so beautiful and so hideous at the same time. attractive features constantly marred with sinister intentions… bloom tries to imagine icy smiling for a reason that isn’t bad. she can’t quite do it, but she bets it would be lovely.

she shakes, shakes, shakes her head to clear these disturbing thoughts from her mind and refocuses on the task at hand.

she finds out from this book that ryhala is not a real place. it’s an old witch’s tale, something witch mothers would tell their children about to scare them into behaving.

she finds nothing in this book that indicates belladonna will be torturing icy in the afterlife, nor that belladonna has any bearing on what icy’s afterlife looks like at all. this information both comforts her and bogs her down under a frustrating cloud of uncertainty.

##########

it’s lunchtime when nurse ofelia tells bloom she can eat here, but after that she has to get up and go to class because her fever is long gone. so bloom tries (and fails) to push past her nausea and eat one of the _especially for sick students_ sandwiches ofelia stores in her refrigerator, then she heads off to “class” early—independent study in the library, aka more time for researching covens.

she slips past barbatea and re-shelves _a comprehensive history_ undetected. then she spends some time browsing the catalog for something that might provide her with more answers.

she’s on top of a ladder, reaching for a book in the restricted section when someone startles her so badly she nearly jumps out of her skin.

“don’t fall.”

bloom narrowly saves herself from doing just that.

amaryl smirks. “you have a phone call in the office.”

 _bitch._ “thanks.”

once amaryl goes, bloom grabs the book she was reaching for and stuffs it in her bag.

##########

miss faragonda isn’t in her office. it’s just griselda and amaryl, so needless to say, there is no warm welcome awaiting her, just unfriendly silence. she’s annoyed with whoever’s called her already.

she goes over to the phone in the corner of the room and picks up. “hello?”

“bloom! are you okay? you’ve been like so totally m.i.a.!”

stella.

bloom opens her mouth to respond, but stella keeps going.

“i would’ve called the school sooner, but it’s been like so totally crazy over here, and signal has been a witch, so it took me a minute to realize you haven’t answered _any_ of our messages!”

“i’m fine,” she lies. and then she lies again: “sorry about that. i’ve just been really busy with all this enchantix stuff. it’s kind of taken over my life.”

“i bet,” stella laughs. and then, by some miracle, she doesn’t bring up the news. “well, let me catch you up on what’s been going on here…”

she starts talking about the mission bloom wasn’t allowed to go back out on, and bloom makes _active listener noises_ every so often, but she’s not paying attention. she’s distracted by amaryl leaning over to griselda and _whispering_.

and then stella is cutting herself off mid-sentence to say how flora is so impatiently asking her for the phone, and the next thing bloom knows it’s not her best friend but her roommate on the line.

“bloom?” flora’s soothing voice instead of stella’s boisterous one. “sweetie, are you there?”

“yeah, i’m here.” she pulls her eyes away from the terrible two and tunes into her friend. “what’s up?”

flora surpasses all formal greetings and cuts right to the chase. “bloom, are you okay? i’ve had the most unsettling feeling these past few days that something is wrong.”

not for the first time, bloom is thankful her friends got shipped away without her.

she wonders if she should tell flora their dorm is spotless.

instead, she does some more of what she does best. “really? i’m not sure why. i’ve been fine.”

there’s a pause, and then:

“bloom, if you’re not happy about…” the background noise grows distant. flora must’ve stepped away from the others. “about what we found out on monday, well… it’s okay—”

she needs to shut this down and fast. “no, no, it’s just—” she sighs. “honestly, flora, i’ve had so much going on, i’ve barely even thought about that.” and then, because it sounds like garbage to her own ears, she adds one of her newer lies: “she doesn’t matter.”

“but… i’m never wrong about this stuff, bloom, you know that. it’s like a mixture of intuition and the voice of nature together that just lets me know when—”

“flora? i appreciate your concern, but i’m fine. really.”

“well… if you’re sure—hey!”

“bloom, why is flora being all serious?” stella again. and now she’s concerned. “what are you not telling me?”

“nothing! everything is fine, stel, i promise…” it’s impossible not to feel griselda’s unrelenting gaze. bloom turns away and adds in a lowered voice, “griselda’s just way too interested in me all of a sudden…”

stella buys it and jokes, “that’s because the original bane of her existence has been away for nearly two weeks! thanks for being my temporary replacement, girl.”

bloom makes a sound that could be considered a laugh. “yeah, for her and amaryl both…” she mutters as amaryl gets up and leaves, off to deliver a note. griselda shuffles some papers.

“oh, yes, my dear buddy amaryl. she was a _delight_ to reach on the phone, by the way. tell me: has she acquired a fashion sense in my absence? you know, since the resident trendsetter isn’t there to intimidate her?”

bloom smiles. it’s weak, but she does it. “i love you, stel.”

“and i love you, _dawling_.” and then her voice grows tinny as she evidently moves the phone around and says, “tell bloom you love her, girls!”

a mismatched chorus of “we love you, bloom!” fills her ear and she smiles a bit more, but it’s sad now. it’s not that she likes lying to her friends. there’s just no way they’d understand, not even flora, no matter how hard she tried.

“love you all, too.”

she hangs up and tries to make a quick escape, evade griselda and all, but the older woman removes her glasses and says her name and she reluctantly halts. the head of discipline’s next words immediately make her wish she hadn’t.

“do see to it barbatea gets her book back by the end of the day.”

bloom’s blood runs cold. she turns back to lie, to find some inane excuse to defend herself with, but she’s got nothing and griselda doesn’t say anything more, only eyes her warily. so once bloom shakes the embarrassment, the caught-red-handed feeling flooding her stomach, she raises her chin and soldiers on toward her destination.

##########

the choir is singing lana’s _dark paradise_ today, and bloom gets the feeling on a normal day the drowsy tune would lull her right to sleep.

but today is not a normal day. today she is hiding in the back, flipping through her smuggled copy of _witch covens: detailed & disturbing_ in search of one bit in particular.

it doesn’t take too long to find. it’s the second section in the chapter titled _death_.

_death of a coven leader._

_every time i close my eyes_

_it’s like a dark paradise_

_no one compares to you_

_i’m scared that you_

_won’t be waiting on the other side…_

when a coven leader dies, a coven must disband. no one moves up in rank. a new sister is not inducted into the coven. it’s just over.

in the event a coven leader suspects she will die, she is required—as part of her promise unto death to provide for them—to make preparations for her sisters in the face of her absence and thus the end of the coven.

_and there’s no remedy for memory_

_your face is like a melody_

_it won’t leave my head_

_your soul is haunting me & telling me_

_that everything is fine_

_but i wish i was dead_

_(dead, dead, dead…)_

bloom wonders what sort of preparations icy can possibly make from a solitary prison cell, but she doesn’t doubt she’ll manage. maybe she already set something in place years ago _just in case_.

that’s another thing that sets her apart: icy is human. darkar couldn’t have cared for someone if he tried, and valtor _maybe_ cared for griffin in the past, but neither creature was capable of love. it hits her all at once, the fact that icy and her coven sisters will be losing each other soon.

she knows how badly her own group was shaken when tecna disappeared into the omega portal, and _they_ hadn’t sworn their lives to each other or viewed tecna as their provider.

witches are something else.

_there’s no relief_

_i see you in my sleep_

_& everybody’s rushing me_

_but i can feel you touching me_

_icy_ is something else.

_there’s no release_

_i feel you in my dreams_

_telling me i’m fine…_

bloom tries to decide how icy must feel about being sentenced to death. the idea of icy feeling anything besides hatred or pride is its whole own hurdle, but bloom has seen her scared, taken aback. how heavy the loss must be, to know you have been so thoroughly defeated, _the government_ has decided to put you down.

she flips through the book some more but finds nothing on what happens to a leader after death.

*

she wonders what the afterlife holds for someone who murdered innumerable people with an undead army of rot monsters when she should’ve been graduating high school.

##########

bloom returns the book to the library without issue—barbatea is preoccupied with the latest copy of _librarian digest_ —then goes back to her dorm. she fishes her phone out from her sock drawer and powers it back on.

voicemail #1, from monday night:

 _“bloooom!”_ stella, cheering. there’s noise of the celebratory kind in the background. _“tell me you’ve heard the news! how lucky are we?! i mean, you more than anyone since you became like her arch nemesis and all, but—”_ she cuts herself off to squeal. _“icy’s finally getting her just deserts! it’s about time! call me back so we can live it up together!”_

voicemail #2, also from monday night, also from stella:

_“blooooooom! where are you? call me back asap, girl! WE BEAT HER! woohoo!”_

voicemail #3, from earlier today:

 _“hey, bloom. it’s me.”_ sky. _“it’s been a few days since i’ve heard your voice. just wanted to make sure you’re doing alright. um, call me back, if you can. and…”_ there’s some rustling, and then his voice, muted: _“i love you.”_ riven whoops in the back and sky tells him to shove it.

bloom hangs up on her voicemail and taps on her messaging app. she clicks to open the many unread texts waiting for her, but she doesn’t really read them. they’re all old and irrelevant now, anyway.

she sets her phone off to the side of her desk. she’ll keep it on, but she’s not keeping it on her person.

she showers, brushes her teeth. she’s in bed by eight but it doesn’t matter. sleep won’t come and she is not trying that damned tea again.

*

it’s going to be a public hanging.

which is barbaric, in bloom’s own earthly knowledgeable opinion. of course, the people hanged in the salem witch trials back in the 1600s hadn’t actually committed the crime they were accused of, but _still_.

it makes bloom want to have a civil conversation with the older magical folk on the magix council, politely educate them on what’s outdated in terms of judicial punishment.

(it makes her want to burn them alive.)

.

* * *

.

FRIDAY

.

her anger carries her into combat the next morning, and she’s not complaining because she’s finally not useless in that “class”. she lands hit after hit after hit, and at one point miss f actually looks on the verge of asking her to tone it down, but she doesn’t, probably because getting your ass kicked by one of your pupils is preferable to having a pupil who sucks.

she is an endless well of rage, bubbling over and burning into the atmosphere.

she’s mad at her friends for having _normal_ reactions toward the news, feelings of animosity and joy at their perceived sense of justice being served. she’s mad she can’t talk to them about any of this. she’s mad it’s causing a giant chasm in their relationship and none of them even know it.

she’s mad at herself for feeling how she feels.

she’s mad at griselda for making her near _paranoid_ with her omniscient looks and that leery comment in the office yesterday. griselda isn’t even here right now, she actually got out of coming as she’s teaching a special morning defense seminar all of three people signed up for (amaryl being one of them, of course), but bloom almost wishes she was so she could “accidentally” miss and throw an attack her way.

she’s mad at icy for not even _trying_ the first time she was sent to light rock. the girl planned a war in secret for four years, stole the dragon fire, and almost took over the entire realm of magix at eighteen. if she could do all that, bloom is certain she could complete light rock’s program _if she wanted to_. the problem was never that she wasn’t smart enough to fake her way to freedom; it was that she was too prideful to even try.

she’s mad at the court for sentencing _icy_ to death because she aided in valtor’s escape from omega, but not sentencing _valtor_ to death for aiding in the destruction of her planet. she’d think monsters would get worse sentences than humans, but no.

she’s mad at valtor for ever having existed in the first place. if not for him, icy and her coven could’ve escaped from omega alone and none of this would be happening right now…

everyone. she’s mad at everyone.

she throws her final attack miss faragonda’s way. it breaks her shield and she lands on her behind, and it’s satisfying, but it’s not nearly enough.

“my!” her headmistress gasps. “that was, er, very good, bloom. good strategy.”

“thanks.” her mouth forms the word but it doesn’t feel like it’s her who’s speaking.

miss faragonda stands and brushes herself off. with a smile, she says, “i take it the nighttime tea is helping.”

bloom laughs. “it sure is.”

and then it’s break time and bloom starts toward the forest before she sees mirta and some of her friends have already claimed the space near its edge for their smoke break. the library holds nothing but disappointment. griselda’s seminar has monopolized the auditorium so she can’t even hide in the back sans the choir practicing their songs. her dorm is a too-neat prison cell she only goes to to not-sleep.

she decides to fly laps around the school because—even after taking her headmistress out in combat—she is still so angry and so unable to stay still.

##########

and then it’s time for lunch and the opposite happens: she’s so drained she finds herself unable to move.

she can’t eat so she goes to her dorm and lays on her bed. her phone goes off with a text alert. she doesn’t check it, doesn’t have the energy for anyone who wants to get ahold of her right now.

except then a few minutes pass and amaryl is standing in her doorway like she can’t believe this is her life and she’s saying, “your _prince charming_ is here to see you,” and bloom thinks she probably should’ve looked at the text.

she crosses the room and checks her lockscreen.

sky, five minutes ago: _I’m outside._

and then _bloom_ looks at her phone like she can’t believe this is _her_ life, and she completely forgets amaryl is still standing there staring at her until she says, “um, hello? can you, like, go out there or something so he doesn’t just _lurk_ on campus all afternoon?”

“oh, uh, yeah. right. thanks, amaryl.”

the strawberry blonde huffs and disappears down the hall.

but even after she goes, bloom stays stationary, trapped.

sky is outside, and he wants to see her.

why didn’t she see this coming?

one look in the mirror tells her she’s going to have a hell of a time convincing him she’s fine, so she casts a pep-up spell, runs a brush through her hair, and soldiers on out to meet him.

her boyfriend.

she hasn’t talked to him all week.

there was a time when that would’ve caused her to have a breakdown—there was a time when that _did_ cause her to have a breakdown; she attacked his fiancée and ran away from school—but now… she wishes it was longer. not forever, just until she can—she doesn’t know—not be like this. and talking is one thing, but in person?

she isn’t ready to face him, but once again, her readiness is irrelevant.

*

sky is leaning against his leva-bike when bloom emerges from the front entrance of the school. he quickly stands and waves as she not-so-quickly closes the space between them. the sun was beating down on her during combat, but now the clouds have come out and there’s a slight breeze trying to push her forward, make her pick up the pace.

she resists and gets there when she gets there.

“hey, you.” she says it with a forced smile.

“hey, you.” he says it back, but it’s concerned. “sorry for showing up out of the blue. it’s just… you haven’t answered any of my messages, and i know you’re busy with your own stuff, but i wanted to make sure you’re okay.” he coughs and adds, “that _we’re_ okay.”

a pit forms in bloom’s stomach. this is sky, the man she loves, the man she’d been hoping would propose to her at his family’s lake house soon. seeing him reminds her of how she feels about him, and she feels bad that she’s shut him out for the past few days, but at the same time…

seeing him reminds her of a fantasy, of the false reality she was living up until monday night. she no longer feels like the person she was before all of this, which makes sense because that person coped with denial, and the _magix herald_ ’s monday evening breaking news headline ripped denial right out of her hands with the finality of stella when she finds a good sale.

speaking of fantasy…

“yeah, everything’s fine. i’m sorry for worrying you. you know how it is. junior year curriculum is crazy.”

sky blinks slowly. “i thought you weren’t taking your regular classes right now.”

dammit. she forgot she used to tell him everything. well, everything except…

“right,” she agrees too quickly. “i’m not. i meant _my_ junior year curriculum. it’s nerve-wracking being around griselda all the time.” she tries to smile at the end, make that last part sound like a joke, but from the way sky is looking at her, she gets the impression all it does is give away just how haunted she truly is.

“bloom…” he starts, shifting uncomfortably, and bloom’s brain is immediately a frustrated loop of the word _dammit_ because, really, dammit. “i don’t mean to pry, but… i can tell you’re not being honest with me.”

she shakes her head but says nothing. in her castle of lies, such honesty is disarming.

sky’s blocky haircut shifts in the early afternoon breeze. “what’s going on?”

bloom pictures, just for a moment, what she would say if she answered that with some disarming honesty of her own. _the woman who murdered you has been sentenced to death and i’m really torn up about it._

since that is decidedly a non-option, she settles on a noncommittal shrug. “just tired.”

“come on, bloom, you can talk to me. at least...” he backs away a bit, dejected. “i thought you could.”

something deep inside her twists unpleasantly and she’s hit with the sudden urge to go off on him. of all the times he could choose to make things all about himself when that is so not the situation...

_but maybe it could be._

“what happened when you died?”

“huh?” his blond brows raise up on his forehead. she’s taken him by surprise.

“at red fountain. when the witches came to get the codex, and…” why is it so hard for her to say _her_ name to sky? “you know.”

he tilts his head. she knows what he’s thinking: _you never asked before._ add it to the laundry list of reasons she’s failing in the girlfriend department. “what brings this on now?”

it’s true she never asked before, probably for more reasons she didn’t want to get into, probably because when someone kills your romantic partner, you should probably kill them back, and—

well.

“it’s just—with recent events and all… i’ve been thinking about what she did to you…” she strategically places a hand on his arm. “what you must’ve gone through.”

_i am literal trash._

sky looks somber. he takes a seat on the fountain they sat at during the war’s after-party and she follows suit. “honestly… i don’t remember. i was there, with all of you guys… and then i wasn’t… and then i was back. what happened when i was gone…” he shakes his head. “it’s missing.”

bloom brings her fingertips to her mouth and looks away. stupid, stupid, stupid, why’d she even _ask_ —

but it works.

sky has this moment where the puzzle pieces click into place (falsely, but he doesn’t know it) and he looks astonished. “oh, bloom. you’ve been troubling yourself over _that_?”

and she feels wretched but she goes with it. “i realized we never talked about it…”

“hey.” he takes her face in his hand, and she remembers the time someone else did that, too. “don’t worry about me, bloom. soon, that witch will never be a problem for us ever again.”

bloom tackles him in a hug so he doesn’t see her face.

after that, she convinces him she’s really gotta get to independent study, but she promises she’ll try to check her phone more and get some sleep (he notices the bags under her eyes; she can hear stella threatening to sue whoever came up with the pep-up spell). he kisses her goodbye and leva-bikes his way back to red fountain.

it was stupid of her to ask. if she’d given it even a minute of real thought, she’d have known herself that sky didn’t remember anything. if he did, he would’ve talked to her about it long ago. after diaspro, he made a real effort to keep the lines of communication open so their relationship could _flourish_.

he doesn’t remember, and even if he did, it’d be useless.

bloom is certain icy and sky have very different afterlives awaiting them.

##########

during independent study, the choir sings _anyone else_ by pvris a thousand times because this brunette girl is hitting her high notes too high and battaglia wants them to _get it right in perfect harmony_. bloom falls asleep somewhere around the two-hundredth rendition.

it’s not all at once; rather, she nods off and arrives at this in-between state where she’s dreaming but she can still hear what’s going on in real time.

a pleasant sweven comes to her for the first time all week: she and icy are lying on the ground, side by side, a foot or two apart. each girl is resting on a hip, turned so they are facing each other. the scenery starts out as a meadow with daylight blending into sunset as the choir sings in the background:

_oh, my blood_

_once was my own, but in one touch_

_you made it yours; what have you done?_

_what have you done?_

the picture flickers and they’re lying next to each other in the middle of a winter wonderland. a blanket of snow is beneath them. snowflakes dance and flutter and land in icy’s hair. bloom watches, enchanted. the snow falls on her, too…

but she isn’t cold.

_please don’t think that i let you go_

_i’ll never let go…_

it flickers again and they’re back to the meadow.

_cuz i could touch a hundred thousand souls_

_but none of them would ever feel like home_

they’re just—lying next to each other. not doing anything, not talking. just being.

_and no matter how far and wide i roam_

it’s nothing.

_you’re the only one i’ll ever know._

~~it’s everything.~~

_i don’t belong to anyone else._

nothing is bad and everything feels right and there is no stress whatsoever.

_i don’t belong to anyone else._

it’s strange and perfect.

_i don’t belong to anyone else._

~~it’s not real.~~

_i don’t belong to anyone else._

time disappears. they lie there forever and just look at each other, content. and then someone is saying her name but it’s not icy and no one else is around—

“—bloom?”

she jumps.

she is still in the auditorium. the music has stopped. the lights are up. class is over. a couple of sophomores are gathered around her, and bloom has to wonder if she was snoring. she wouldn’t be shocked if she was; that was the first peaceful sleep she got in ages.

“don’t tell me our performance bored you that badly, bloom.”

everyone laughs.

bloom tries to get her bearings as the choir girls filter out.

but amaryl hangs back.

she’s there, of course, probably had a note for battaglia. her office aide status is really starting to wear on bloom’s nerves.

the strawberry blonde smiles and says, “so this is where you’ve been going instead of doing _independent study_. griselda will be thrilled i’ve solved the mystery.”

how had it not occurred to her that amaryl could be popping into the library to deliver notes during the time she _wasn’t_ there for independent study?

bloom sits up in her seat. “oh, come _on_ , amaryl. do you have to—”

“yes,” she says firmly. “yes, i do. it is _ridiculous_ how you and your friends get all these special privileges and you don’t even appreciate them.”

“amaryl—”

“i mean, seriously! do you know how hard i had to fight to get ‘office aide’ added as an extracurricular? if one of you had wanted it, there wouldn’t have been a campaign or any student council meetings at all. you would’ve had a ‘personal conversation’ with _miss f_ and it would’ve been done, just like that.”

bloom wonders what exactly griselda has told her.

“ _amaryl_ —”

“but i guess those are the perks of being the _keeper of the dragon fire_ , right? anytime you want something, whoever’s in charge just—” she shrugs madly. “obliges! always!”

bloom opens her mouth to ask if amaryl seriously thinks she _asked_ to do one-on-one sessions with faragonda and _griselda_ , or independent study alone for hours in the library every day instead of attending classes with the rest of them. but then she realizes, yes, of course amaryl thinks that. so she just stands up, says “whatever,” and cuts in front of her to leave.

the auditorium was a nice hiding place while it lasted.

##########

bloom doesn’t sleep that night. instead, she memorizes the pattern on her ceiling.

she wonders what icy’s last thought of her will be, wonders if icy is thinking about her right now. about how much she hates her and how this is somehow her fault.

and then she remembers how nice things were between them in her dream and her eyes fill with tears.

*

she wonders if it’ll get worse after.

she bets it will.

.

* * *

.

SATURDAY

.

while her classmates are enjoying a lazy saturday morning, bloom figures she should at least feign catching up on independent study for when griselda inevitably finds her and chews her out. so she gathers her stuff and heads out as soon as she figures barbatea’s had time to unlock everything that needs unlocked and get settled in.

to be clear, all bloom is trying to do is get to the library without incident.

to summarize, it doesn’t happen.

“bloom! hey, bloom!”

so not _everyone_ is enjoying a lazy saturday morning.

she ignores the voice at first, but then the voice’s owner is _walking backward in front of her_ and shoving a piece of paper in her face.

it’s some perky underclassman bloom vaguely recognizes from choir practice, the brunette with the ultra-high notes. jenna.

“jenna, i really can’t talk right now.”

jenna from choir lacks social skills. she plows right on, waving the paper around some more. “do you wanna join our bus?”

bloom swats the paper away. “your _what_?”

“our bus,” she repeats, her smile radiant and her demeanor cheerful. “a bunch of us are chipping in to get one for icy’s execution on wednesday. it’s ten bucks per person, but we’re also making t-shirts, so if you’d like, you can round up to—”

bloom doesn’t remember tackling jenna. she remembers her vision going red and someone grabbing her by the shoulders to pull her _off_ jenna and someone else—amaryl, she thinks—announcing she’s _getting griselda_ , and—

no. just no. she was dreading dealing with griselda on a saturday in the first place, but now, when she’ll not only be in trouble for cutting independent study, but she’s just attacked a fellow student and she’s so worked up she’s seething and her classmates are _getting a bus_ and _making shirts_ , she just—she doesn’t—

she invokes the emergency invisibility spell musa learned and taught to their group after the whole hex café-turned-alley ambush situation freshman year, gathers her things from the floor, and silently escapes to—at last—the library.

##########

she’s all of five minutes into calming down when two voices enter the library, looking for her. bloom is sitting on the carpet, back against a shelf in the restricted section, and while other students wouldn’t normally dare to come back here, one student saw her back here on thursday.

and that one student is present.

“blooooom!” fucking amaryl, fucking again. no wonder stella can’t stand this girl. “oh, bloom! griselda is looking for you.” she borderline sing-songs it, she’s so delighted with this non-turn of events. she peeks her head into bloom’s aisle for a split second, and bloom wants to hit her—she _could_ hit her; the spell is still up, and it would feel so good to watch the shock blossom across the other girl’s face—but she thinks her quota for physical altercations with classmates is up for the day.

amaryl step-step-steps around the neighboring sections, cooing her name every so often.

and then the other voice speaks up again. “i don’t understand what i did wrong.” jenna. and she’s whimpering. “all i did was ask if she wanted to join our bus.”

“did you, like, not have _magical history 101_ or something?” amaryl asks, stopping in her tracks. jenna stops as well. they can only be a couple rows over.

“i have it right now…”

“and have you gotten to _the battle of fire & ice_?”

bloom stops breathing. amaryl is not that smart.

but amaryl was there.

_fuck._

jenna must nod because then amaryl is saying, “then you should know bloom had the opportunity to kill that witch herself and she chose not to. she chose to _spare_ her.”

amaryl says _spare_ like stella says _polyester_.

that’s the last thought bloom gives amaryl, because even though the obnoxious strawberry blonde is still in the library talking about her, about how she must not believe in the death penalty because of her weird earth upbringing, somehow omitting from memory she _just_ killed valtor a month ago, she finds that, inside, it’s getting really loud. it is pulse-in-her-ears, heart-in-her-mouth, stomach-in-her-throat loud.

it’s loud in the way that she knows she can’t shove it away any longer.

*

she’s still not ready to go there but she has to.

*

she chose to spare her, amaryl says. bloom chose to spare icy during their fight.

her vision goes white and though she’s sitting down she feels like she’s about to pass out with the weight of it all because no.

no.

she didn’t spare icy.

she killed icy.

##########

for the longest time, all she remembered of it was using her fury to break free of the tower icy had frozen her into, and then she just kept unleashing her fury once she was free, except there were no more thousands of layers of ice to take the impact of her rage, there was only the ice’s creator, a teenage girl bloom would soon discover weighed less than her despite being a few years older and a few inches taller, a teenage girl with no dragon fire left to protect herself with—

and then bloom was carrying her back to school.

for months after it happened, that’s all she could remember.

but that day at red fountain, when icy killed sky, the memory reappeared and instinct kicked in and she was able to save sky…

…the same way she saved icy.

bloom remembered, over the rushing and roaring of her magic zooming icy’s way, this sick _snap!_ worse than a tree limb; human bone. she remembered watching in slow motion as the impact of her attack hit the witch and she landed on the ground…

dead.

and bloom panicked and hurried over to her and—with no real idea of what she was doing—placed her hands on either side of the witch’s head and… willed her to come back.

and she did.

icy was still unconscious, but she took a startled breath, and bloom let out a startled exhale, at which point she realized she had stopped breathing during the entire ordeal herself.

and then she carried her enemy’s exhausted body back to campus and she laid her down so gently and with such care and somehow no one questioned her about it because, because—

probably because they wanted to pretend they’d imagined it.

it was that night, after she brought sky back, that she realized icy had probably not done it just to be cruel.

sky didn’t matter to her. even though he had been in her face that day, even though it would hurt bloom, it just seemed off she would _kill_ him. icy was testing a theory, a memory of her own, because maybe she didn’t realize it all at once, either (how horrifying it must’ve been to realize you’d _died and not known_ ), or she wanted to let bloom know she knew, or she was trying to trigger bloom into remembering in the event she suspected she didn’t, or, or…

whatever the case, no part of bloom believed icy killed sky just to kill sky.

bloom thought icy knew he wouldn’t stay dead.

and she was right.

but they never talked about it. bloom and icy never had a conversation about all this—and how could they have? being defeated by your fairy nemesis in battle and then _rescued_ by her was hardly something a normal witch would want to admit to, let alone a witch as prideful as _icy_ —so bloom couldn’t really say that’s what she’d been doing that day.

but icy didn’t seem surprised when sky was up and walking after the fact.

once she had her missing puzzle piece from their battle, bloom had a whole new trouble weighing on her soul: _why had she saved her?_

for the longest time, she had herself convinced it was just because she didn’t want to be responsible for anyone’s death, nothing more. and then when she killed darkar and had no desire to bring him back, it wasn’t hard to rationalize: he was basically the magic realm’s version of satan. after valtor, she had to change the narrative to include the fact icy was _human_ while the others weren’t. until this past monday, she’d really had herself convinced, mostly, that it was impersonal.

but now here they are again and this time it won’t even be her fault and she still can’t stand the idea of icy dying, so all her old excuses have gone out the window.

*

she wonders what it says about her that she resurrected a murderer.

she wonders what her friends would say about that. so much trouble could’ve been avoided if she had just let icy stay dead: darkar wouldn’t have gotten most of the codex, valtor wouldn’t have been freed, sky wouldn’t have _died_ , galatea wouldn’t have had her wings snapped off…

_but icy would’ve been gone._

and now icy _will_ _be_ gone.

sky barely knew he’d been gone, but if icy was testing a theory, that told bloom _she_ remembered her experience loud and clear and wanted to convince herself she wasn’t imagining things. she wonders what icy saw during those moments she was gone, during those hour-like seconds it took bloom to bring her back. whatever it was, bloom can’t imagine it was good, and she knows she won’t survive knowing icy’s seeing it again.

she knows she won’t survive icy dying again because it was hard enough to deal with the first time.

*

she wonders what it says about her that she is losing her mind over a murderer being sentenced to death.

##########

she sits there for about an hour, listening as her more studious classmates come and go. amaryl shows up to look for her again. when she doesn’t find her, she leaves quickly this time, to the relief of bloom’s sanity.

and then bloom decides to take out her phone. she has it on her today, having seen the disastrous results of not checking it yesterday. the charge is low but she’s got enough battery to do some social media stalking.

the summer after freshman year, in the late hours of the night turned early hours of the morning, she did this all the time: looked at icy’s social media. she was trying to make something click, trying to make it make sense, how a teenager managed to plan a war for several years without anyone noticing. she never came up with any answers and it never made her feel any better but she kept doing it all the same.

she hasn’t done it in a while, but she still remembers icy’s instagram handle.

the page loads, and there’s nothing new since the last time she looked. icy could’ve posted during her time in the underrealm or when she was working with valtor, but she didn’t. her last post is still a shot of her ice dragon, the way her possession of the dragon fire manifested. she was gloating, documenting it for all the realms to see what she’d done. the comments blew up after the final battle, and it seems they’ve blown up again in the last few days. bloom can only stomach the sentiment _CAN’T WAIT TO WATCH YOUR NECK SNAP, BITCH!!!_ so many times before she decides to forgo the comments section.

she scrolls past shots of ritual materials, hexes to invoke on fairies, the witches’ blood moon… there’s one picture that always caught her attention, and it’s rather far down in the feed…

there.

it’s a group shot of icy and her coven from (if bloom is doing the math correctly) their sophomore year. they’re sitting outside a cloud tower classroom. the caption lets bloom know, in a vague, coded, inside-joke way, that stormy somehow pissed off the professor so bad, she managed to get half the class thrown out in the hall. a girl from (apparently) that half of the class is given picture credit. the witch of storms flips off the camera while icy leans her head on darcy’s shoulder, grinning, the two witches laughing.

it’s just—

it’s stuff like that. she’s having fun with her friends, she’s not hurting anyone, she’s enjoying herself…

somewhere around this picture, bloom recalls seeing photos of icy with a guy, darko something or other. they seemed, for all intents and purposes, to be in a relationship. there are shots of them at a bar, shots of icy on his lap…

bloom would’ve been happy. that’s why she doesn’t understand.

what is different in icy’s brain that stuff like that—the makings of _a normal life_ —could never be enough?

##########

she spends the better part of an hour e-stalking but there are no answers, not really, which she already knew, and then her phone dies, so she just sits there for the rest of the day, her insides wreaking havoc on her heart and mind. she gets hungry, but that’s okay; she’s sure her nerves wouldn’t allow her to eat, anyway. the hours tick by. people filter in and out, some talking about her, some not, some looking for her, some not. griselda never makes an appearance.

bloom slips out the door just before barbatea locks up for the night.

.

* * *

.

SUNDAY

.

_they’re standing before the gallows._

_at first the court is there, too, ready to hang icy for her crime. and then the court’s not there and it’s just them, bloom & icy, standing before an ugly green-gray backdrop._

_the shackles on icy’s thin wrists disappear, and while she’s still facing the ground, her eyes travel up, up, up until she’s looking at bloom._

_bloom stands there, paralyzed._

_icy has a knife in her hands. it wasn’t there before; it’s materialized out of nowhere._

_the witch walks toward her._

_bloom can’t move, can’t breathe._

_“is this what you want?” her cold voice asks. “you wanna watch me die?”_

_terror grips bloom. she shakes her head. “no,” she says, trembling but sure. “no, that’s not what i want.”_

_“sure it is,” icy goads. “it’s what you’ve always wanted.”_

_“no!” bloom shouts._

_“come here.” the space between them is closed now. icy stands in front of bloom and takes her hand. she places it on the handle of the knife, her own hand over top. she tilts her head to the side, exposing the pale skin of her throat._

_“stop!” bloom says frantically as icy moves their hands and the knife up to her neck. “stop, i don’t want to do this!”_

_the sharp edge of the blade presses against the column of icy’s throat. she grins, chuckles like this is amusing._

_“go on.” her voice is provoking, poisonous, as always. “do it.”_

_bloom shakes her head, hyperventilating. “n-no.”_

_“DO IT, YOU COWARD!”_

_something inside bloom snaps._

_she slits her throat._

_blood, everywhere._

bloom jolts upright in her bed, crying and screaming and—

“ow!”

—shouldering nurse ofelia in the face.

she’s shaking so bad she can’t talk, can’t string together a coherent sentence like _are you okay?_ or _why are you in my room?_

“it certainly seems the nighttime tea is not working for you!” ofelia rubs her nose. “here, come with me. let’s get you settled down.”

“n-no—” bloom tries to protest through her tears, but it’s useless. nurse ofelia is helping her out of bed, guiding her through her room and down the hall to her office.

on the way there, she explains, “you were so frantic, you woke amaryl several rooms over. she was very concerned about you, dear.”

bloom would laugh if she didn’t feel like her heart was breaking into a thousand pieces.

nurse ofelia has her take a seat on the exam table and gets her a glass of water. she’s only three questions into her investigation of bloom’s usage of the nighttime tea when the door opens.

“well, what do we have here.”

griselda stands there in her bathrobe, looking not the slightest bit surprised to see her.

bloom wants to _die_. there is no way this can be allowed. the prospect of saturday was bad enough, but sunday, at nearly two in the morning?

nurse ofelia doesn’t seem over the moon herself. “nothing you need to worry about, griselda. i’ve got it.”

“no, _i’ve_ got it,” the head of discipline asserts.

“excuse me? this is _my_ —”

“it’s late, nurse ofelia. really, i insist you get some rest.”

the woman splutters. “you know, you may be in charge of discipline, but you’re not in charge of everything at this school—”

“ofelia?” the corners of her mouth lift up, but her eyes are dead. “ _go_.”

the woman’s face discolors. she slams her pen down and huffs, “i’m telling miss faragonda!”

griselda snorts.

panic sets in and shakes bloom from her ptsd-induced stupor. “b-but—” she urgently tries to protest as the nurse stalks across the room.

“no buts. see you in the morning, ofelia.”

the disgruntled woman shuts the door loudly behind her.

and then bloom is alone with griselda.

*

the atmosphere is uncomfortable, to say the least.

bloom gets down from the exam table and sets her glass aside. _let me leave, let me leave._ “i’m fine, really. you don’t have to—”

“no, no. sit.”

her mouth stays open, like she’s going to protest some more, but she can feel how futile it is, so she sits.

the head of discipline circles the room leisurely, like she does this all the time: gets up in the middle of the night and corners students in the nurse’s office. at last, she speaks, her tone conversational. “nightmare?”

“’m fine,” bloom murmurs.

“no, you’re not. you haven’t been _fine_ all week.”

bloom flicks her eyes griselda’s way. _don’t._

“i think it’s time we talked, don’t you?”

“gris—miss griselda, can we please do this some other time?” she doesn’t need a response to know the answer is no, so she just—talks some more, does her best to formulate the right words. “i know you’re upset with me for ditching class, and for attacking jenna. and i am so sorry, truly, but i have no idea why i did those things.”

“bloom…”

“honest. i mean, i’ve been upset about being away from my friends, sure, but—”

“you said her name, bloom,” griselda tells her gravely. “icy’s. in your sleep. you were crying and screaming over her.”

_oh._

bloom doesn’t know if she says it out loud or not. she supposes it doesn’t make much of a difference.

“which _fascinates_ me, to tell you the truth. because, see, _i_ remember the time you came back from your little vacation on earth and were hysterical because she and her coven stole your powers. i remember the time she sent a nightmare gargoyle to torment your friends and single you out after spring break.”

bloom is just glad griselda doesn’t know about the time icy murdered her boyfriend right in front of her and bloom just let her leave.

“what are you getting at.” it’s not a question, and bloom doesn’t really want to hear her answer. she’s not making eye contact; she’s learning the pattern on the floor. by the time all of this is over, she’ll be able to rival stella as a designer. _if_ all of this is ever over.

griselda takes a deep breath, removes her spectacles, polishes them on her robe. “you know, bloom, i find that when we refuse to deal with something, it eats away at us on a subconscious level. you’d be working through a whole unit on this in my class if miss faragonda found it pertinent for her students to actually _attend class_. she should’ve retired the day you got here. it’s been nothing but terrible decision after terrible decision for our school since: allowing you to stay after you lied to us, pulling layla from her homeschool program all because she was _lost_ , sending a bunch of children into the underrealm, starting classes early for no real reason, upping the curriculum to the _nth_ degree—”

bloom squeezes her glass of water so hard she’s surprised it doesn’t shatter. she is so tired of the people in this school bashing the people she cares about.

“don’t you suppose it’s unprofessional to tell a student how much you don’t respect your boss?” she snaps. “what if i talk? hmm? i mean, apparently you’re in league with amaryl about the _special treatment_ i receive. what if miss faragonda’s _favorite_ _student_ tells her what you just said?”

“first of all, amaryl is the perfect example of what i _wish_ you and your friends would aspire to be. and second…” she gives her a dissatisfied once-over. “you won’t talk. you haven’t said anything of substance since word broke. you’ve been too _preoccupied_ with sorting your inner turmoil.”

she shrugs flippantly. “dunno what you’re talking about.”

“don’t you. let me jog your memory, then, shall i?” she inhales and says with bravado, “ _the battle of fire & ice_, as the historians have decided to call it.”

bloom closes her eyes.

griselda was there, and she _is_ that smart.

“miss griffin and miss faragonda turned darcy and stormy into ball & chain, and you carried your beloved back from the battlefield.”

so they’re really going there.

“griselda…”

but saying her name is the extent of her warning, because what even is there to say to that?

there’s a long pause while both parties size each other up.

griselda speaks first.

“i don’t mind being the bad guy, bloom, not if it means you _think_. miss faragonda wants to be your _friend_ , and we see how that’s going—how _is_ jenna’s nose, by the way?”

“do you know what she’s planning?” somewhere deep down it hits— _i went after her face, i maybe broke her nose_ —but she can’t even feel satisfied with this knowledge. she is white-hot sick at the memory of the bus and the _shirts_. “what all of them are planning? for wednesday?”

“the underclassmen’s extracurriculars are not of my concern,” is her vague, dismissive reply, and bloom knows that means she knows, and she wishes she was even a little shocked to learn the woman doesn’t care about such vile behavior from her students. “what _does_ concern me is the poor leadership of alfea’s headmistress.” and then griselda looks genuinely forlorn. “when i think about the things the girls in this school have been subjected to these past few years under her authority…” she shakes her head. “things would be a lot different if i was in charge around here.”

“yeah, everyone would transfer.”

normally that comment would get her a detention, but this conversation has made it perfectly clear it exists outside normal standards.

case in point: griselda sort of laughs and smiles good-naturedly. finally, something that scares bloom more than her own feelings. “weeeell, at least they’d be leaving of their own accord. they wouldn’t be getting pulled out by their parents for safety concerns or murdered because you wore down the barrier that kept a psycho out of our school.”

bloom averts her eyes in shame, but griselda’s not done.

“i could not believe faragonda obliged your _request_ to spare a tyrannical nutcase all so you could have a proper chat with him. you seem to have a growing pattern of protecting dangers to society when it suits your personal needs, no matter who suffers the consequences.”

it’s at that point bloom just—she can’t tolerate this anymore. she hops off the table, affronted. “that was totally different! i asked her to spare valtor temporarily and purely for information, and once i realized he had none, i didn’t hesitate to kill him myself. i didn’t _care_ —”

she realizes too late into her diatribe that she walked right into that one.

griselda looks like this is exactly the course she intended this conversation to take. “didn’t what? didn’t care for him?”

bloom chews her bottom lip and leans back enough to press her hands against the end of the exam table. she’s trying to figure out how she’ll ever escape the monumental hole she’s just dug for herself, and she doesn’t suppose confirming that is exactly what she meant will help her case, so she doesn’t say anything, just tries—in vain—to steady herself.

griselda pretends to process that like it’s new information. “hmm. well that’s _totally different_ , indeed, to what’s going on here, isn’t it? what’s _been_ going on between you and the ice witch for some time now.”

and it’s really bad because bloom immediately imagines the expression that would cross icy’s face if she heard griselda’s comment and she wants to laugh even though she shouldn’t and then she notices the prickling feeling at the back of her throat and, oh, she doesn’t want to laugh, she wants to cry.

she’s going to cry.

this is really bad.

and then it gets worse: griselda goes solemn on her. “sometimes we love people we shouldn’t.”

“shut up.” it’s a strained whisper that betrays her white knuckles gripping the exam table, her blood trying to remember how to sliver-sliver through her veins. _shut up shut up shutupshutupshutup—_

“and sometimes that’s okay, it’s doable, but when you’re willing to put the person you love above the safety of everyone around you—”

“I SAID SHUT UP!” finally, she does what she wanted to do during combat on friday: she unleashes what’s become her signature enchantix attack on griselda. because as long as she’s fucked, she might as well be _really_ fucked.

the older woman counters the attack and the room lights up as their powers clash.

then it goes dead-silent.

tears chaff bloom’s cheeks, but she doesn’t notice. she’s too preoccupied with how _loud_ her heart is beating and how bad this is, this is so, _so_ bad.

griselda doesn’t freak out ( _why won’t she freak out_ , she’s more infuriating when she keeps her composure), only hums softly and takes a moment to soak in what just happened.

and then, casually:

“your enchantix is still subpar, i see.”

shaking fists / clenching teeth / glassy vision / _agony_

griselda makes her way to the exit. she stands in the door frame and faces bloom, her solemnity back.

“everyone will be safer. i want you to think about that, and then i want you to get good with it.” she half-turns, like that’s it, but then she turns back and adds, “being a fairy is not just the pretty wings and the protecting of your kingdom, you know. it’s doing what hurts you when it’s the right thing to do.”

and then she goes.

##########

bloom eventually drags herself back to bed.

_everyone will be safer._

not icy.

her face crumples at the thought.

she cries herself to sleep.

##########

and sleep she does.

bloom falls into a coma for twelve hours. her blowout with griselda both physically and emotionally knocked all the energy from her and made her too tired to worry. thus: she finally got some shut-eye. now it’s past two in the afternoon and the day is already partially gone.

she blinks up at her ceiling and its familiar pattern, motionless for who knows how long. if she’s ever known a numb, sad sense of defeat, this is it.

icy is going to die in three days.

she wants to cry some more, but she feels dead herself.

she thinks about the night they met in the alley, about how far they’ve come from a scared, stupid-brave fairy who couldn’t even transform yet and an arrogant witch who thought the girl disposable and not worth her time. because that’s a whole other facet to this bloom doesn’t let herself think about: the fact that it’s mutual.

some of the shit they let each other get away with was _unreal_. even if she left out the sky thing, there was still a list. icy held bloom’s adoptive parents hostage and almost killed them. bloom recalls a flicker of a memory from shadowhaunt where her dark self smirked at icy when darkar ultimately chose her as his partner after icy worked her ass off collecting his precious codex pieces all year. icy tricked her into thinking she could take the dragon fire back during her powerless mission to cloud tower. bloom hurled one degrading insult after another icy’s way during all the valtor stuff…

she cringes at that last one. she got so bitchy toward icy once she broke out of omega. seeing her again so shortly after the darkar thing made it impossible not to compare her reaction to killing darkar to her reaction to killing icy, and—she didn’t know—making bitchy comments was a way to detach. it made it easier, and bloom needed it to be easier because it—whatever _it_ was; griselda had so kindly filled in that blank for her—was so intense, so all-consuming, it scared her.

maybe she can sabotage the bus.

she thinks about that, about how griselda is apparently okay with her students holding a fundraiser to go watch someone die but she’s not okay with bloom having a rough week. and the fact that she really praised _amaryl_ as a role model… honestly, what reason does griselda have to like stella’s bratty rival, apart from her being stella’s rival? the only thing the two even have in common is being wholly unlikable. well, that and claiming bloom and her friends get special treatment—

bloom gasps and sits up straight in her bed.

it’s like the entire magical universe rights itself.

 _but i guess those are the perks of being the_ keeper of the dragon fire _, right? anytime you want something, whoever’s in charge just—obliges! always!_

“holy shit,” she says out loud.

she hadn’t been able to make sense of it, why griselda was soo obsessed with not the cutting, not the stealing, not the fighting, but bloom’s _inner turmoil_ , why it was such a problem for her, how it impacted her life. all the other things were broken rules; this was just her being upset. she convinced herself griselda was just being a stickler for the old ways, that she was annoyed with bloom for breaking from fairy-witch protocol—that she was annoyed with bloom, _period_.

but no.

it was what griselda _hadn’t_ said, what she alluded to when she was on about _doing the right thing_. bloom thought she was talking about how she “spared” icy freshman year, the way she spoke about _putting the person you love before the safety of others_ , but bloom realizes now she was being _current_.

griselda believes bloom can do something about the execution.

_griselda believes she can stop it._

and she doesn’t want bloom to realize as much.

bloom gets out of bed so fast she trips over herself. she spends what remains of the day in the library, pouring over every book of substance alfea’s catalog has to offer about law & order. and then she finds a copy of monday’s paper laying around and rereads the article that’s been tormenting her for the past week, only this time she takes notes.

.

* * *

.

MONDAY

.

on monday, bloom gets up with the sunrise. she makes herself presentable and locks her phone in a drawer, still dead from saturday and maybe to stay dead for the rest of time. once that’s done, she spends a good hour writing and rewriting and re-rewriting the most important note of her life. at first it takes up a full sheet of paper, then she condenses it down to a paragraph on a half sheet, then she condenses it down to two words in the margin.

when she is finally satisfied, she carefully tears her note from the rest of the page, double folds the minuscule slip, and tucks it into the pocket of her jeans. she faces herself in the mirror and heads out the door, off to seal not one but two fates.

*

she’s decided she’s a bad person.

she’s also decided she doesn’t care.

##########

bloom peeks her head into miss faragonda’s office and _tap-tap-taps_ her knuckles against the door. “knock knock,” she says lightly, a meek smile on her face. “miss faragonda.” she turns and casts her eyes down and nods to acknowledge her head of discipline. “miss griselda. do you have a moment to talk?”

griselda looks cautious, like she’s trying not to be hopeful too fast.

miss faragonda removes her glasses. “well i certainly think we should. take a seat.”

“actually, that won’t be necessary—i hope.” she inserts a calculated pause here. “i know i’ve been distracted and acting out lately. i should’ve been honest with you last week when you asked if something was bothering me, but i just didn’t know how to say it, and it’s been so hard…” she makes eye contact with griselda and tries to keep her expression somber when she says, “but i had a lot of time to think about it yesterday. see, the truth is…” another pause, and then: “my mom’s sick.”

griselda inhales. “miss faragonda…”

miss f’s eyebrows crinkle. “sick? sick with what?”

“they’re not sure yet, but they think it could be this earth disease called cancer. it doesn’t have a cure and the mortality rate is crazy high.” she bites her lip, takes a breath. “so i was hoping, if it’s okay with you, that i could go home to visit her today.”

“ _miss faragonda_ ,” griselda says, harder this time.

“i know last week was messy,” bloom says hurriedly, like _that_ is what griselda’s so urgent about. “i badly messed up the individualized plan you were so kind to create for me, and for that i am truly sorry. but if i could just go home for one day, i promise i’ll make up everything i’m behind on.” she clasps her hands together in front of her heart. begging. “please.”

miss faragonda gets a faraway twinkle in her eye. “you know,” she says kindly, “when i was your age, my grandpappy sniflu came down with a nasty case of the troll measles. i was in the midst of my college entrance exams and my focus was hor _ren_ dous…”

griselda looks ready to gouge her own eyes out.

“ohh, anyway,” miss f regroups. “what i’m trying to say, dear, is _go_.”

griselda is shaking her head but it doesn’t matter because she’s not in charge around here.

bloom grins graciously. “thank you so much.”

“just be back by curfew.”

“of course.”

when her headmistress looks away, bloom flips griselda the double bird, mouths _subpar **that**_ , and _runs_.

she almost misses the woman’s jaw dropping. almost.

but she doesn’t chase after her.

##########

the morning transportus is just about to depart from alfea when bloom pushes through the doors.

“just in time.” the driver tips his hat. “where to?”

“town hall.”

##########

the mayor of magix is all too pleased to have the long-lost princess of sparx waiting to speak with him.

“bloom!” he greets her jovially, giving her a warm handshake. “what can i do for you?”

“i need to speak with the magix higher court about an execution.”

.

* * *

.

.

.

_& you say_

_“as long as i’m here_

_no one can hurt you.”_

_don’t wanna lie here_

_but you can learn to._

_if i could change the way that you see yourself_

_you wouldn’t wonder why here_

_they don’t deserve you._

—billie eilish, _everything i wanted_

.

.

.

* * *

.

MONDAY, CONT.

.

“come with us.”

icy’s eyelids fly open and her heart spazzes for a solid ten seconds before she realizes it is not wednesday; it is monday. what time on monday, she can’t say. she woke up at six, took a shower, and went back to sleep. it’s not like there’s anything else to do. mail isn’t collected until two in the afternoon, and other than that, she’s taken care of everything that needs taken care of.

all except for one thing, and she won’t be doing _that_ until tomorrow night.

incorrectly thinking it’s your execution date is easily up there on her list of top ten least favorite ways to wake up.

and then she realizes tomorrow is the last time she will ever wake up and she has to get out of her thoughts to maintain some measure of sanity.

she sits up on her bed and levels a glare at the guards. “i’m not going _anywhere_ until you tell me where we’re going.” it’s supposed to sound haughty and threatening, but she gets the sense it’s not too convincing. she’s a lithe girl in a hideous jumpsuit, stripped of her magic, and they’re big burly men who reserve the right to shoot her if she steps out of line.

kraken penitentiary is a far cry from light rock monastery, to say the least.

“you’re wanted in court,” one of the guards says gruffly as he barges into her room and slaps a pair of handcuffs on her. it’s hilarious as much as it is infuriating. without her magic, what is the purpose of this precaution? what do they think she’s going to do? scratch the guards’ eyes out? as satisfying as that would be, she’d rather not touch them at all, and anyway, she had to cut her nails when they did her intake. long nails could serve as a _weapon_. pathetic.

her hair ribbon was confiscated, too, as was her makeup, though only one of those things could actually be dangerous. it’s a dehumanization tactic, or a way to make her more uncomfortable than she already would be. she fucking hates that it works.

“hey!” icy protests as they _grab_ her by the waist and force her to walk out of her cell and into the hall, past rows and rows of sealed steel doors. in here, everyone gets solitary. in here, everyone is on death row. “can i at least put my hair up?”

the guards ignore her and guide her to make a left at the end of the hallway. then they walk her down another hallway, all the way to the end where a garage-like door awaits. one of them presses a button and the door goes up slow.

“i _said_ can i at least put my hair up?” she won’t ask about makeup since that’s useless, but surely one of them has a hair tie or _something_ she can use, something that was recently confiscated from another inmate.

although maybe not. she’s not socialized with the other inmates at this prison, but it’s impossible not to notice she’s one of the only females. still, one of these idiots took her original hair ribbon when she arrived last week, and she’s betting he hasn’t bothered to take it out of his pocket yet.

she’s prepared for them to say something stupid like _we wouldn’t want to compromise anyone’s safety_ —because putting her hair in a ponytail is somehow a fucking safety hazard—but instead one of them grunts and says, “we’ll talk about that when we get there.”

“what is this about, anyway?” it’s more than she ever talked to the people in charge at light rock, that’s for sure. but she had no questions for those meditating losers, only contempt.

it’s the other guy’s turn to grunt. all he says is, “dunno.” it must be a rule, icy thinks, for prison guards to be ugly. both of these men have scraggly hair and worn-out faces. she can’t decide if their appearance is a step up or down from the monks, but she easily decides their touch is more repulsive.

the door finishes going up, and icy sees the gross red fountain-like ship that was waiting to bring her here the last time she exited the courthouse. another button is pressed and the back of the off-white ship opens up. she reluctantly climbs aboard. the guards settle in on either side of her, sitting way too close for comfort. the pilot does something up front to close the hatch and then they’re ready for takeoff, ready to go to _court_ for whatever reason.

if she was hopeful, she might think her sisters actually figured something out.

but she knows better.

*

icy closes her eyes and tries to pretend these big lugs aren’t _touching_ her. the pilot shifts into ‘fly’ and she feels the ship lifting up off the ground, and just like that, they’re en route to downtown magix.

it’s probably some lame last-minute requirement, like some humanitarian extremist unearthed an old ruling that stated even on death row women have the right to a will.

her will is for them all to burn. she’ll say it, too, if they’re dumb enough to ask.

they really sentenced her to death. it’s almost as stupid as sending her to omega. they tried to contain her in her own element and _shockingly_ that didn’t work out so well. now they really think she’s just biding her time until they take her life? unlikely.

no one will be executing her. these morons or whoever it is who comes to retrieve her wednesday morning will find her corpse. she will be dying on no one’s terms but her own. that was her task for yesterday: deciding how she’ll do it. she’d already had it narrowed down to a few options and she spent the better part of yesterday picking the one she thinks will be quickest.

the guards will have to collect her body and tell their boss she needs to be cremated, their boss will have to address the angry mob of disappointed members of the public, and the staff of kraken penitentiary as a whole will be forced to cope with the irreversible loss of their reputation for the rest of their pathetic lives.

like she’d let them win.

*

she hasn’t told her sisters what she’s going to do, but she knows they’ll eventually come to find it more honorable than letting a bunch of goodie-goodies take her down. then again, the last time she saw her sisters, they were adamant they were going to figure something out, find some way to save her, but they’ll figure out nothing. plans aren’t really their area.

icy, however. icy has been making plans.

at light rock they could decorate their “rooms” (cells) to their liking, though she and her coven never did. on death row, she is in a tiny little gray box and her only privilege outside of supervised visits is mail.

under her sad excuse for a bed are two letters she will mail tomorrow before she takes her life. one is addressed to riven; the other is addressed to the leader of a group of radicals called the wizards of the black circle.

in riven’s letter, icy falsely confesses to everything he’s wanted to believe for the past year and a half: that she forced darcy to betray him, that darcy begged her to let riven stick around but she refused. it’s all lies. darcy never said a word about riven sticking around after his use was up, though icy knows she wanted him to. she also knows that sentiment went right out the window the moment they got the power. darcy was just as far gone as she and stormy were that day they group-dumped the _king of sulk_ in griffin’s office. possession by the dragon fire leaves no room for boytoy loose ends, not even for her eternally-falling-in-love-with-bad-boys sister.

maybe riven will see through it or maybe he won’t. either way, with her out of the picture, he’ll take darcy back. his insecure, unfaithful poser of a pixie is nothing next to the seductress of darkness.

in her letter to ogron—the circle’s leader—icy arrogantly assumes he knows who she is and says she had hoped to one day form an alliance with him (false; he could bow to her for all she cared), but since fate had other plans, the least she could do to reward his great displays of evil charisma was bring to his attention the least-hinged witch she ever met. she talks about stormy’s greatest psychotic moments, her favorite forms of fairy torture, and how all of this inspired icy to put stormy in charge of punishment for their traitorous ex-classmates during the war (she’s sure there are some horror stories online for him to cross-reference). he’d have to be an idiot not to break her out of light rock the next day.

darcy can be lowkey dark and in love, and stormy can be deranged with a man who could rival even her insanity.

they’ll miss her, but they’ll learn to adjust to their new realities.

icy doubts she’ll adjust to hers. she’s known what awaits her since the day she lost the dragon fire.

the black. it was like if shadowhaunt was worse and engulfed her insides and tried to eat the skin off her bones. it was petrifying, and tomorrow night she will experience it again, only this time it’ll never end. this time, she won’t come back.

her precious pixie princess will not be there to _bring_ her back, will have no desire to do so this time if her recent attitude toward icy is any indication. apparently, bloom doesn’t find her a _worthy_ adversary anymore. add it to the list of things that are hilarious and infuriating all at once.

*

she wonders what bloom will think when it comes out she’s killed herself.

she decides bloom probably won’t give a damn.

##########

time passes (what is time, she’s realized how fake it is this past week) and they arrive at the magix courthouse. she is _escorted_ out of the vehicle and in through the back door.

it occurs to icy downtown magix would be in an uproar if its citizens knew she was here right now, powerless and defenseless two days before she is set to be executed. leaving the courthouse last monday after the whole five minutes it took to receive her sentencing was an _experience_ , to say the least. the giant crowd of rowdy losers really thought they defeated her. yeah right.

compare that to now: other than the temple clock striking noon, the city is quiet today. icy realizes the public does not know she’s here right now, which makes her wonder even _more_ what the hell is going on.

maybe they’re executing her early and didn’t want a crowd. that’ll make killing herself harder, hurrying to do it in front of people, but she’ll manage.

she will _manage_.

they take the elevator up to the very top floor of the building and head for the courtroom. the entrance is being guarded, and some big dude walks ahead of her to push through the double doors, blocking her view of what’s directly in front of her.

so she looks to the side and sees her sisters farther back on the left. this is her second short-notice court hearing light rock has allowed them to attend, in addition to letting them visit her twice in kraken, and she figures that has everything to do with her impending death because it certainly has nothing to do with any kind of success in rehabilitation. darcy and stormy look perturbed, and then they turn and see her and they look _really_ perturbed, and icy hears stormy mutter, “oh, shit…”

she can’t figure out what _that’s_ about, but then the guy in front of her moves and in her peripheral vision she catches a flash of red somewhere beyond her. she turns and—

bloom is sitting on the witness stand.

*

icy gasps at bloom.

bloom gasps at icy.

icy can’t figure out why _bloom_ is shocked to see _her_ since she was the only party who knew to expect their meeting today, but then a strand of hair falls in her face and she registers the fact her hair is cascading down, down, down over her shoulders and she remembers what she looks like right now and suddenly dying doesn’t sound so bad.

she would glare if she could, but with her hair loose and no makeup on, that wouldn’t intimidate bloom; it’d make her snort with derision.

one of the guards shoves her and she realizes she’s stopped walking. she fixes that with as much dignity as she can. they arrive at the defendant’s table and sit and bloom is still staring at her, but her shock is gone. it’s morphed into something else, something softer. she is studying icy in a way that icy can’t read.

she is studying icy in a way that makes every inch of icy too aware it exists.

“you mentioned putting your hair up?” the guard who confiscated her hair ribbon during intake reluctantly dangles it in front of her face now.

icy wonders if he asked someone about this and she missed it, or if he’s really just that much of an asshole and made her wait for no reason.

“i’m good,” she lies. she can’t put her hair up now. bloom will realize the hair thing bothers her.

bloom has _already_ realized the hair thing bothers her.

_fuck._

either way, she’s not doing it. she will make herself sit through whatever this is, looking like this, because—

because, because, because.

she notices something is hitting her leg. she looks down and it’s her hand. she is tapping her leg with her hand, but it’s not on purpose; she’s just shaking that bad.

_awesome._

she tries to dig her fingernails into her palms, make herself bleed, distract herself with some physical pain, but then she remembers they deconstructed _that_ part of her appearance, too. she settles for clenching her hands into fists in an effort to get them to stop moving.

what could this possibly be about, anyway? what could bloom want with her? all she did once icy escaped from omega was gloat about the superiority of herself and her band of losers. so what is this, then? one final _fuck you_? another of her recent bitchy comments? what is the _point_? and why does she look like she hasn’t slept in a week?

“order.” the _honorable_ judge gordley has appeared on his bench. he takes out his spectacles and places them on his egg-shaped face. “first thing’s first: today’s proceedings will be sealed. no one in this room may make the public aware of anything that is discussed from this point forward. is that understood?”

everyone nods agreeably.

it’s some weird new form of torture. she was wrong about bloom not giving a damn. bloom gives so much of a damn she wants to kill her herself— _again_ —and they’re gonna let her. that’s what this is.

but no, icy doesn’t really think that. and then she knows that’s not it because—

“very well.” the judge shuffles his papers and clears his throat before dropping the bombshell she never would’ve guessed: “we are gathered here today because princess bloom of sparx does not believe the defendant should receive the death penalty.”

*

he keeps talking—icy makes out the words “she seeks to see this decision of the magix higher court overruled by…”—but she is losing the room. her heartbeat is in her ears and she’s stopped shaking, but it’s because she’s gone into shock. she has fully gone into shock.

is this her sisters’ plan? did they actually figure something out?

she turns to look at them, the question evident on her face, but stormy is just as shocked as she is, and darcy is slowly shaking her head to say, _not me. not mind control. not blackmail._

this is all bloom.

“is this correct, princess?”

icy faces forward just in time to hear bloom say, “yes, your honor.”

the room needs a moment to recover. there is whispering among the jurors, conspiracy theories being tossed around. someone throws out the word _heresy_.

_what is she doing?_

icy would try to ask bloom this with her eyes if the fairy wasn’t suddenly avoiding her gaze.

the judge clears his throat. “then moving forward, we will hold something of a trial. are you prepared to make your case in a court of law?”

“yes, your honor.”

“very well. let’s begin.”

##########

there was no prosecutor when icy was sentenced last week because there was no trial when icy was sentenced last week. it was a unanimous decision of the magix council that she be sentenced to death as soon as possible, and they ran it by the magix higher court who essentially said, “fine by us,” and that was it. icy guesses this is why the familiar woman who steps forward, smoothly fastening a single button midway down her blazer, has been called in today. she will be the prosecution…

…and bloom will be the defense.

 _her_ defense.

and, somehow, a witness.

_what is going on?_

the woman announces what icy has already worked out: “my name is nancy corbin and i will serve as the prosecution today.” she doesn’t need to consult her notes, only clasps her hands behind her back and slowly paces in front of the court. “miss bloom, it is my understanding you had a very negative experience with the dark wizard valtor. is that correct?”

“yes,” bloom says, and icy can see the hatred in her eyes at the mention of the demon. she should probably relate more than she does, but valtor turned out to be such a loser, it’s hard for icy to feel much of anything for him besides contempt.

“is it true valtor frequently lied to you about his role in the destruction of your planet, specifically in regards to what exactly he knew about your birth parents, king oritel and queen mirium?”

“yes.”

“is it also true he put not only the whole of magix in danger, but that he specifically targeted the home realms of your friends? for example, he sought to control the kingship of solaria and brought significant ruin to tides?”

icy can see how annoyed bloom is with these questions, but somehow, in a very un-bloom-like display of self-control, she doesn’t let her temper rule her. she only says, yet again, “yes.”

“then surely, miss bloom, you understand how bizarre it seems to all of us that you wish to pardon the woman who is responsible for valtor’s escape from omega in the first place.”

“is she, though?” bloom challenges, and icy realizes— _there it is._ bloom’s incentive to keep her cool through nancy’s intro. she has a _prepared rebuttal_ to what she already anticipated from the prosecution’s set-up.

her own fate aside, icy lowkey can’t wait to see where she’s going with this.

nancy tries not to look amused. “well, it would certainly stand to conclude so.”

“would it?” bloom pushes.

“i would say so, yes.”

“why?”

“well, valtor spent seventeen years in omega without incident. the day the defendant arrives, he suddenly breaks out. put two and two together.”

“okay.” bloom adjusts herself in her seat. “so, what exactly do you mean when you say icy is _responsible_ for valtor breaking out? can you clarify that?”

“well, i would say first she unfroze herself, and then she unfroze valtor.”

“how could she have done that? it’s my understanding she was frozen when she entered the prison, no?”

“she was, but she has ice powers—”

“indeed she does, counselor.” bloom is fighting a smirk. “so, what you’re saying is you made the executive decision to send an ice witch to an ice prison and somehow expected her to stay there. that makes perfect sense.”

nancy opens and closes her mouth. there’s a hushed chatter amongst the jury. the judge raises his white eyebrows, amused. not for the first time, icy thinks bloom is the only one of her adversaries with a brain.

but all that aside, icy finds herself grinning because there _was_ a prosecution for her and her sisters’ omega sentencing, and nancy _was_ the prosecutor for that.

nancy is also used to being untouchable in the courtroom.

the woman shakes her head. “my previous cases are of no relevance. the fact of the matter is the defendant released valtor from prison—”

“is it a fact? can you prove it? were you there?”

nancy gapes like a fish out of water. “we’ve just established it wasn’t the brightest move in the world to expect the defendant to not unfreeze herself once in omega. it stands to reason, since he didn’t do it for nearly two decades, valtor did not possess the ability to unfreeze himself. if the defendant didn’t release him from his ice pod, miss bloom, how exactly do you suppose he broke free?”

“well, valtor was created from icy, darcy, and stormy’s bloodlines. three witches of bound coven status who give off the same energy as his mothers being deposited into the same prison as him all at once? valtor and i crossed paths on solaria, and he could sense the dragon fire in me. if he could do that, he most definitely could’ve sensed the original coven blood in them. i think it’s entirely in the realm of possibility that he thought they were his mothers come to save him, and that hope gave him the strength to break free. all. by. himself. so really, if we’re about to sentence someone for freeing valtor, it should be whoever decided to send icy and her coven there in the first place. which… i believe was you. you obviously didn’t do your research.”

_she’s a fucking genius._

it’s a solid theory, honestly. once icy unfroze him, valtor didn’t ask too many questions. she supposes he _could’ve_ instinctively known they were descended from the bloodlines of belladonna, lysliss, and tharma.

icy wonders how long it took bloom to come up with this angle. she accidentally lets her admiration show in her eyes and bloom chooses that moment to glance her way. but icy supposes it isn’t too bad bloom sees it because in response she gives her the cutest little smile ever.

icy despises cute, but her favorite fairy is the exception.

she’s always the exception.

while nancy is shellshocked with offense, a man in the aisle stands. “your honor, if i may?”

the judge inclines his head. “go ahead, senator brown.”

“thank you.” senator brown turns toward the witness stand. “princess bloom,” he bows slightly to acknowledge her. icy narrowly keeps herself from rolling her eyes. “i was involved in the omega verdict, and i have it here in my notes that someone _did_ bring up the possibility of the defendant unfreezing herself and her coven. however, omega has guard snakes, and the thought was that if anyone tried to escape… well. the snakes wouldn’t let them get far.”

icy doesn’t have to be disgusted with this ugly balding man for standing there and saying he hoped a snake would eat her alive because bloom does it for her.

“have you not met icy? are you not familiar with her crimes? she planned to take over the universe for four years and kept it a secret from the whole of cloud tower, including headmistress griffin. you really think she’s so dumb a snake could be her end?” before anyone can respond, bloom hurriedly interjects, “and she cannot be tried for that because miss griffin chose to handle the matter outside of the courtroom. _the laws of magix_ , chapter eight, section b, subsection c, paragraph two.”

a thick tension envelops the court. they need a moment to reassess what they’re dealing with.

so does icy. no wonder bloom looks like she hasn’t slept in a week. angle aside, icy wonders how long it took her to _read_ and then _memorize_ all this stuff. then she realizes if bloom was so desperate to learn it, maybe there’s a baser underlying reason she hasn’t slept since—

_oh._

since word of her execution broke.

icy ignores the way the space behind her naval piercing flip-flops and turns in her seat to get darcy’s reaction.

her sister makes the OK hand sign and mouths _your wife is thorough._

icy smiles and faces forward again.

senator brown holds up his hands. “all i’m saying is there _was_ a failsafe in place.”

“exactly,” nancy chimes in, but it’s evident in the way she _forgot as much_ that bloom made yet another solid point. “i had a failsafe in place.”

bloom nods. “okay. so, what you’re saying is, icy did what you expected her to do, but you still gave her the means to do it because you didn’t realize she could outsmart your basic failsafe because you suck?”

nancy’s face goes red. “your honor! this child is asinine. she’s probably under the influence of dark magic. i call for tests to be run!”

“already did that before you were called, counselor.” the judge looks like this is better than his daytime soaps. he wasn’t the judge for her omega sentence, and his smile makes it seem he’s more entertained than he is invested. “she’s clean.”

bloom matches his amusement, only there’s a cocky edge to her court-inappropriate reaction. “i’m sorry—is your own position so weak you’ve resorted to accusing me of being _spelled_? just because a high school student is embarrassing you by being well-read and knowing the law and the defendant’s history better than you do is no reason to play dirty pool, nancy.”

but it’s the implication that bloom _knows the defendant well_ that gives nancy her angle. “you are obviously biased when it comes to her—”

“and so are you,” bloom says evenly. “so i guess if she can’t get a _fair_ trial, she should at least have both sides of the bias present to speak their piece, no?”

“and from where does your bias stem?” nancy has found probably her only in and she is holding onto it for dear life and the hope of icy losing hers.

bloom’s mouth opens and closes before she settles on, “fifth.”

icy blinks in confusion. so does the rest of the courtroom, so she takes it this isn’t some law jargon only she’s missing.

judge gordley confirms it. “fifth what, princess?”

bloom bites her lip to keep from smiling. “no, it’s an earth thing—an american thing. the fifth amendment is the right to remain silent.”

nancy the gaping fish is back. “we are not in america, we are in magix! i’ll ask again, and more directly: are you sexually involved with the defendant?”

bloom’s face goes redder than her hair. “wha—NO! i’m—i have a— _NO_. i’m not.”

the jury shifts in their seats. the judge yells for order in the court. how icy manages not to turn around and look at darcy or laugh so hard she cries, she will never know.

“counselor, you’ll not be crude or i’ll throw you out and #355 this whole operation. stick to the topic at hand.”

nancy’s pride hasn’t recovered, though. “your honor, there is no basis for what this girl is arguing. she could be lying about valtor ‘sensing’ her magic on solaria. he stayed put for seventeen years and the day the defendant arrives he breaks free. as we have no witnesses, we must rely on logic—”

“technically you have three witnesses,” the judge points out.

“hardly. two of them have sworn their lives to the defendant—”

“then why not ask _the defendant_ what happened?”

nancy looks like she can’t believe the sheer stupidity of the suggestion, but nonetheless she turns to icy. “miss icy, did you or did you not unfreeze valtor in omega?”

icy looks from nancy to the judge to bloom. she stands and says, “fifth.”

bloom’s hands fly to her mouth, but icy catches her smile, can see her shoulders shaking. she bites her lip to suppress a smile of her own. one of the guards grabs her arm and yanks her back down into her seat, but the disgust never hits. she’s drunk off the fact _she made bloom laugh_.

while the court is split between being pompously indignant and reluctantly entertained, nancy insists this is proof of her earlier argument, the one she got in trouble for.

“alright, alright,” judge gordley says, banging his gavel. “i instate #355 of the carson act due to incompetency of the prosecution. from this point forward, i run the show. counselor, you’re dismissed. princess, i will remind you it is only as a favor to you that today’s proceedings have been sealed. if you’re going to inspire mockery of this court, we reserve the right to revoke that favor.”

 _only as a favor to bloom?_ icy turns and looks all around the room just to be sure. other than nancy storming toward the door, there is no movement among the people, allowing her to survey without interruption and quickly arrive at the conclusion that, sure enough, bloom’s friends—bloom’s _boyfriend_ —are nowhere to be found.

so they don’t know about this.

_fascinating._

the smile fades from bloom’s lips and her demeanor slowly does a one-eighty. despair settles in, and her cockiness slips away. she gets to her feet and shouts, “then unseal the proceedings! i don’t care! just—” tears shine in her eyes; she blinks and they spill over. she shakes her head, and then she meets icy’s eyes. “just please don’t kill her.”

it occurs to icy that some of these people might think this is a manipulation tactic, the tears. but she knows bloom too well; the girl just genuinely cries this much. she’s seen it enough—she’s _caused it_ enough.

but the fact that bloom is crying _for_ _her_ …

the judge’s white brows crinkle. genuinely, he asks her, “why do you care so much?”

bloom’s blue eyes bore into icy’s blue eyes. there is no one here but them.

“…fifth,” she whispers, and it’s the way her voice breaks when she says it that makes the judge not reprimand her a second time. it’s the way her voice breaks that makes something shift in icy. this uncomfortable gnawing takes up residence in her chest, an inner knowing that _she does not deserve this._

she feels—she feels—

_she **feels**._

that’s novel enough in and of itself, but then she finds the right word to put on the emotion she is experiencing, and it is unheard of.

icy feels peace.

it is in that moment she decides that if she does have to die tomorrow… it’s okay. because she gets to live this moment, right now.

this is as good as it was ever going to get for her.

*

she decides belladonna would disown her.

she also decides belladonna can go fuck herself.

##########

while the rest of the court is probably deciding the two women are having a sordid love affair and bloom’s testimony is useless and icy does indeed still have to die “wednesday,” judge gordley floats a box of tissues over toward the witness stand.

“princess,” he begins softly as bloom plunks herself back down in her seat and dabs at her eyes, “i can see you have some affection for this witch. but i will remind you: her heart is so cold omega couldn’t freeze it. just because _you_ care for _her_ does not mean—”

“it’s not one-sided.” bloom’s voice is scratchy, wrought with naked emotion. she stares at the tear-stained tissue in her hands while her words sink in to everyone in the courtroom.

the judge’s curiosity is piqued. “can you elaborate on that?”

bloom raises her eyes to meet icy’s once more, and instantly icy knows what’s coming.

they’re really going _there_.

*

icy was never much in the practice of lying to herself, and whatever bit she had been was obliterated by darcy.

darcy has been saying it forever, how she never used to let anyone get away with anything, how—three weeks into their freshman year—she tricked a girl into killing herself for looking at her wrong.

and then bloom happened.

icy let bloom get away with so much it was _shameful_. she hardly ever felt the way she was supposed to about the girl, and she gave up trying to change that around the same time bloom and sky popped up on the arachnicam. darcy pointed the dragon power-less pixie out—they had the fire; they could take her out so easily—and even then icy came up with an excuse. _forget about bloom; she’s useless now._ a girl who had doubled as a vessel for fifteen years, useless? hardly. she knew the risk she was taking and she took it anyway because—

well.

she’s known for so long, and she doesn’t understand it, but she also knows there is zero point in fighting it.

her mind drifts back to as early as the day bloom handed her the solaria ring. she remembers bloom insisting icy keep her end of the deal and let stella go, and she remembers her response: _normally i wouldn’t…_ but she did. was it true stella was of no use to her now? yes. but would it have been such an epic power trip for her and her coven to kill the bottle blonde brat right in front of four freshmen pixies? _absolutely_ _yes._

there was something even then, even before she knew bloom had the fire. she admired that the girl had learnt her lesson the past two times she’d encountered her and her coven, that she was no longer willing to fight a stupid-brave battle just because it was _the valiant pixie thing to do_. she admired that bloom chose what was _smart_ over what would impress her loser friends.

she admired a freshman pixie earth girl.

she should’ve known she was doomed right then and there.

*

if bloom has spent the past week finally accepting all the things they never talked about, all the things icy doesn't try to suppress…

that explains why she looks like she’s been trampled by a pack of trolls. for all intents and purposes, metaphorically, she has been.

*

they’re really ripping off _all_ the band-aids, then.

##########

“my freshman year was quite the turning point… that was the year i found out everyone had been lying to me my entire life. when icy and her coven followed me to earth to steal the dragon fire, we had a confrontation. it culminated in my living room where icy told me the truth… she told me who i am. she didn’t have to. she could’ve just ripped the power out of me and left me scared and confused. but she let me know what was happening and why. she told me the truth.”

senator brown raises his hand. “if i may—”

“you may not,” the judge says curtly, not even sparing him a glance. “one might argue, princess, she only told you to be cruel.”

“no. maybe that’s what she told _herself_ so she could live with it. but no.” bloom takes a deep breath and soldiers on: “my sophomore year, i went home to visit my adoptive parents. i wanted to keep them in the loop on… some stuff involving my birth parents. it’s hard, feeling like you have two sets of roots. you don’t want to upset anyone… anyway, my adoptive dad…” she shakes her head. “he told me i had his support, of course, and then he mentioned…”

icy knows what’s coming.

_we were just trying to protect her._

she remembers how visceral her response was when mike peters looked down at his living room floor and shamefacedly confessed why he’d lied to his _daughter_ her entire life. her coven was getting the dragon fire that night, that’s all her focus should’ve been on, but bloom wasn’t home yet and icy just had to _know_. what could’ve possibly inspired these powerless idiots to allow bloom to go her entire life thinking she was _nothing_ when she was _everything_?

even then, even when she was about to get everything she wanted, she… had an awareness for the girl, a knowledge that the people in her life had handed her a rotten deal she didn’t deserve. that her life sucked. she wouldn’t have called it a feeling then—when bloom was frozen to the wall, moments before they took the power, icy said, “if i _could_ feel sorry for her, i would”—but she is feeling everything right now, here in this courtroom.

“he mentioned how he was ashamed of the way he handled telling me—er, rather _not_ telling me about how he found me. and then he…” bloom carefully tears the tissue in half. “he mentioned icy said something that night that stuck with him. see, i was out for a walk when she and her coven sisters got to my house, so they had some time to talk with my parents alone.”

here it comes.

“my dad said icy went off on him about how it was abhorrent—‘ _and not the fun kind’_ —to let me not fit in anywhere and never explain to me _why_. i asked him to clarify that, and he said… he said she seemed disgusted with him… for what he’d done to me.”

who would’ve thought: the idiot fireman isn’t so dense after all.

bloom licks her lips. “there was also the time, when i was powerless and icy had the dragon fire, that she had me cornered in cloud tower. she used magic on my friends, but not me. she talked about how my destiny involved being locked up in the dungeons forever… she wasn’t planning to kill me.”

icy bites her tongue. yeah. that one was just obvious.

bloom’s into the groove now. “that’s kind of similar to something that happened more recently. when valtor was still happening, my friends and i, along with some of the heroes from red fountain, travelled to the golden kingdom to obtain the water stars. while my friends were in the maze, icy and her coven showed up and attacked me and the guys. valtor had given icy this bat-box-type-thing that disabled my already weak enchantix. she was supposed to use it on me, render me useless, and then kill me… but instead she used it on me and just…” her face flushes adorably. “she wanted to talk about the night we met,” she says quietly. “she was buying time until someone could stop her, provide her with an excuse to give valtor of why she hadn’t done what he wanted.”

so _this_ is what it’s like to have all the band-aids ripped off, and publicly.

but really, it’s not that big of a deal. the only two people she could potentially be concerned with learning this information already know it—darcy’s been calling her on this shit for over a year and stormy has watched her do so.

part of icy thinks it a shame she can’t get up and defend herself. she could add several points to this angle that bloom cannot. she knows better than bloom all the stuff she never let anyone get away with before her. hell, even _after_ her: the hip-hop pixie loser slapped her and icy had a whole group of witches chasing the girl into an alley, ready to crush her into fairy dust within seconds. it was different, yes, in that bloom had never been so inane (there it is again: her fairy is so _smart_ ) as to resort to _hitting her in the face_ , but still. bloom had her disrespectful moments yet icy still protected her. they stood there in the golden kingdom, bloom bragging about her group’s superiority, her enchantix disabled, and instead of killing her, icy reminisced on the night they met and gave her enemy the chance for final words. she had never done that before. her enemies were shown no mercy, ever.

until bloom.

still, bloom is covering her bases thoroughly well. too well.

how odd a sensation, to feel as though your skin’s been flayed open in the presence of your enemies and yet you don’t mind.

##########

when the dust settles, when everyone’s had time to absorb all of that, judge gordley speaks. “i see. princess, while you make a compelling case for the defendant’s feelings for _you_ , i’m afraid that doesn’t make her any less of a danger to society.”

there is a moment where bloom could break; icy can feel it. but instead she takes that potential energy and goes cool.

“okay. then how ‘bout this: i have saved the magical dimension not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES. the least you can do to repay me is honor my wishes in your verdict.”

senator brown stands up. “three times you’ve saved it _from her_!”

“silence,” judge gordley insists, but bloom responds to the man.

“the first time was one thing, but with darkar she was basically his slave since he broke her out of light rock, and ultimately she ended up fighting against him. and with valtor… he was like her boss, and she chose to leave him in the end.”

is it just icy, or does bloom look _proud of her_ when she mentions that last bit?

“so, what are you getting at, princess? you want her spared, but what do you think happens after that? do you mean to tell me you believe she could be rehabilitated? i don’t know how you can; she made exactly zero progress her first time in light rock.”

bloom chooses her words carefully. “i think icy can do whatever she puts her mind to. and i think she could surprise you. if she wanted to.”

“ _if_ being the operative word. _if_ she wanted to. but she’s made it very clear she does not. i’m sorry, princess, but—”

“what kind of message do you think this sends? all you’re doing is telling the public that murder is okay.”

“and if i let her live, that doesn’t send the message that her actions are okay?”

“i don’t think it does, no.”

icy wonders if bloom really believes that.

bloom takes a breath and says, “look. up until this past week, i thought of my classmates as good people. but this whole thing has brought out an ugliness in them that i didn’t even know existed. just yesterday, i had a professor try to shove her idea of what it means to be a fairy down my throat, meanwhile she knows all too well what my shameful classmates are planning for wednesday and she's made no move to stop it. if what she allows with her silence is what it means to be a fairy, then…” she shakes her head. “i don’t want to be one. but i would like to think there’s a more honorable way to be one.”

judge gordley shuffles his papers. “sometimes the honorable thing to do is eliminating threats to society.” he picks up his gavel. “it is my decision that nothing should change about this sentence—”

“WAIT!” bloom stands up and shouts, just barely stopping him from banging the gavel and making it official. he halts, and icy watches something come over bloom, something she hasn’t seen on her before.

when she speaks, her tone is cold and calculated. “you might be an _honorable_ judge. you might hold governmental power. but i will remind you that _i_ am the most powerful person in this room. i am bloom, keeper of the dragon fire, and despite who i was saving it from, i think you should show a little respect for the wishes of the _teenager_ who did law enforcement’s job and saved the magical dimension on more than one occasion.”

there is affronted silence. icy’s heart pounds in her chest. this is easily her favorite instance of a fairy thinking she’s all that. _her_ fairy can actually back it up.

“i want her spared, _your honor_.” bloom sits and crosses her arms over her chest with finality. “end of.”

icy is distinctly reminded of herself when she trapped griffin in a bubble and held her _pep rally_ to announce to her former classmates what she had in store for the realm of magix.

a power trip looks good on bloom. it’s just a fact.

the judge doesn’t have a very good poker face. icy can see it: he’s intimidated. for all intents and purposes, bloom could burn this courtroom down if she wanted, and he would be able to do nothing to stop her. he knows this— _he knows this_ —and he knows _bloom_ knows this.

he swallows once, averts his eyes. the court is dead-silent as it waits to see what he’ll do about this new development.

and then—

“well then, _most powerful person in the room_ …” he nods a little to himself, as if he’s trying to convince himself to go ahead with what he’s internally decided upon. “the next time she does something monstrous, it is on your head.”

it doesn’t hit immediately.

and then it does.

senator brown stands up again, urgently. “your honor—”

“i order the defendant, miss icy, descendant of belladonna, to be transferred from kraken penitentiary back to light rock monastery as soon as possible. i hereby revoke the death penalty from her sentence.” he seals his decision with a _bang!_ of the gavel. “court dismissed.”

##########

the room _explodes_.

people are screaming about _justice_ left and right. the bailiffs have to restrain senator brown. darcy and stormy elicit sobs of relief somewhere behind her.

it takes a minute for icy to let it sink in.

she doesn’t have to die tomorrow.

_she doesn’t have to die tomorrow._

she doesn’t have to die tomorrow because bloom doesn’t want her to.

up on the witness stand, the most radiant smile lights up her fairy’s face. icy stares at her in awe, much like she did when bloom showed up to the final battle, but this time there is no resentment or animosity or fear. she is… she doesn’t have the word for it. she feels like she’s not even in her own body right now. she is suspended in time. this is _unreal_.

the magix higher court could start an investigation into bloom. they could try to say she’s unfit to possess the flame. they could bring a lot of charges against her for what she’s done today. and yet…

bloom did it all for her.

once again, icy feels something, only this time she doesn’t have to figure anything out. she knows exactly what it is the moment it blooms in her chest.

and she isn’t surprised in the slightest.

##########

judge gordley escapes through the back entrance. senator brown is escorted out. the rest of the court falls away as icy focuses on her fairy.

bloom hops down from the witness stand, shoves her hands in her pockets, and starts for the door. she’s—she’s just going to _leave_ without saying anything to icy, so as she’s walking by, icy stands and reaches out and grabs her elbow, but instead of jerking back, bloom _turns_ back. too easily and not caught off guard. she was expecting it. she places her hand on icy’s elbow, and when icy flinches, she runs her hand along her inner forearm, something small and rough following along.

bloom’s fingers trail over icy’s wrist, and her touch is such a pleasant contrast to the harshness of the metal shackle. and then bloom’s hand reaches icy’s hand and she deposits the rough thing in her palm.

a note.

icy’s fingers close around it immediately and she feigns scratching her collar bone so she can hide it under her bra strap.

no one catches their exchange, not even the kraken guards who no longer care about her but are instead chatting amongst themselves.

bloom gives her one last look before resuming her walk down the aisle and exiting through the main door.

icy watches her go, mystified.

##########

after she collects her things from kraken…

after she is granted the great privilege of exchanging her jumpsuit and handcuffs for that dreaded robe and headband…

after she hugs her coven sisters…

after she tells darcy to fuck off about her and bloom being married…

icy goes to her light rock cell and reads the note.

except she doesn’t do it immediately. rather, she sits on the floor and sets it in front of her and ponders it first.

it’s a small slip of paper, folded over twice.

it can’t say much; there’s not enough surface area. it must be a phrase or a single sentence.

it could be a spell.

it’s not a spell.

bloom wouldn’t tell her how to escape. she got her off death row, that is her mercy, but she wouldn’t invite icy to repeat the past, especially now that it would be _on her head_.

maybe it says something lame, like _you’re welcome._

no, that’s stupid, and as she’s established, her fairy is not stupid.

if it’s a confession of love...

that last thought is too unsettling. she unfolds it.

it’s two words that make her open and close her mouth in silence, torn.

she swallows, reads it over and over and over again until the words don’t look real. she takes a deep breath, looks up, looks back down at the note. she sits with it for a while, steeps herself in it.

time passes—she couldn’t say how much—and the guards call lights out.

she tapes the note to the wall and stares at it from her bed until she falls asleep.

she dreams she and bloom are lying next to each other in a patch of grass in light rock’s sanctuary. icy’s hair is down and she is not self-conscious about it. bloom reaches over and tucks a lock behind her ear. then she says the words from the note.

_please try._

.

* * *

.

TUESDAY

.

the resident psychiatrist’s office is a two-minute walk from her cell.

it takes her an hour.

she’s required to go sometime today to redo her intake. not that much of anything happened during her first intake, but the situation is indeed different now.

today was supposed to be her last.

she hasn’t said it out loud to her sisters, but she thinks they know things have to be different moving forward.

she thinks about how they were on top of the world for four solid years as students at cloud tower. they ruled that school. everyone wanted to be them, and everyone was afraid of them. icy wanted the school from the moment she laid eyes on it, so she set out to make it hers, and just one month into her freshman year, she had the ground work laid and everyone could feel things shifting—something was different about this tall, beautiful, pale _freshman_ with the ponytail. she and her crew weren’t just mean girls; they were something else.

truth be told, it was too easy.

she worked so hard for that school, and by month three she had it, and by month three and a few days, she needed more.

and then she learned the myth of the great dragon in history class, except _her_ family’s books told her it was not a myth; it was real. it was a new project, something that her ancestors had worked so hard for, something she knew she and her sisters could finish. she made them up a regime to follow, and before long they weren’t just popular; they were legitimate threats to society. but they were so young and, as griffin explained it away, _every witch goes through her goddess complex phase_. they flew right under the woman’s radar.

what a fool she was.

when icy acquired the dragon fire, it was the accomplishment of a lifetime. but if she was honest, as time went on, even _that_ high started to fade. not for darcy and stormy—they were still soaring on the power trip. but icy could feel herself, once again, starting to need— _crave_ — _more_. she wasn’t just being petty when she told bloom she was glad she got more dragon fire because now there was more for her to take; she needed _something_ , and with any luck, another hit of the great dragon would suffice.

deep down she knew that wouldn’t have lasted, either, but she never got the chance to _find out_ -find out. because before she could take the rest of bloom’s fire, bloom killed her. and then she had to figure out, slowly, over time, while sitting under the fake sunshine in light rock monastery’s grassy sanctuary day after day, that she had died and bloom had brought her back to life.

physically, that was. in every other way, she still felt dead.

so when the air pressure shifted and a blood-red skeleton showed up and told her and her coven to follow him if they wanted out of there, she did. when he threw them away like trash after working them over like slaves for the better part of a year, she tried (and failed) to retaliate. when he shut off bloom’s humanity and did things to her that icy read got people on earth castrated, things that made her feel a foreign rage she had never experienced before, it was almost a dissociation of her roots when she would go find bloom afterward, mindlessly crying in the caves of shadowhaunt, when she'd take the fairy’s face in her hands and look into her ugly gold eyes (because he even had to erase their beautiful aqua depths, the monster) and tell her _imperium erasus_ so she could forget, so she wouldn’t be tormented by what he’d done when this was all over, because it _would_ eventually be over, that much was clear.

icy figured out long before bloom started bragging about it that every time she went up against her group of rejects she lost, and if darkar saw bloom as a sex object it was no secret who he would choose to enter the gates of realix with, and bloom’s friends were waging a war and no matter what forces of black magic that skeleton cretin used on her, at her core bloom was _good_ , she was so good it was _unreal_ , if all fairies were genuinely as good as her they’d maybe have a tiny bit of legitimacy to stand on, and—

icy knew she was going to lose, and she could do nothing to stop it.

it was the slow rot of her leadership until it eventually culminated in her being placed on death row and just accepting it.

so, yeah. even before she got moved from light rock and into kraken, she had no idea what she was doing anymore. that’s why she fell in with valtor in the first place: they instantly developed a flirty thing and he had a plan and she didn’t. she caught on quickly that he’d disappoint her eventually yet she stuck around until it happened, anyway. she never had her ‘crushing teenage years,’ just using darko for free drinks and there was no attachment on her part. her teenage years had been all work and occasional torturing-others play, so it was at nineteen, almost twenty years old she finally allowed herself a moment to have a real crush on a guy and just—she didn’t know—be catty and dumb.

truthfully, she should’ve been hanged. not for freeing valtor, but for allowing her coven to almost fall apart over him.

all of this goes through her head as she stares at the psych building across the way. all of this coupled with what happened in court yesterday makes her know in her core: something has to change.

*

so she takes one step after another until she reaches the intake office. the receptionist tells her to have a seat while she lets _dr. rickson, magi-phd_ know she’s here.

she doesn’t know how others do this, how they just function in society and talk to people without ulterior motives.

something is wrong with her. something has always been wrong with her. and she doesn’t know how to fix it, but maybe…

_please try._

she tilts her head back and closes her eyes while she waits. she thinks of her reunion with her sisters last night, how it felt like _before_. first thing they’re doing when they get out of here is renewing their vows as a coven. after that… she doesn’t know yet. but she has time to think up something.

they need some goals for when they’re released, that’s for sure. icy always operates better when she’s working toward a goal. it keeps her sharp, focused, motivated. eye on the prize, always. it puts her in tip-top coven leader shape. she needs some of that previous-icy direction, only this time it won’t be actually-bella’s direction, but authentically- _her_ direction.

rickson appears and tells her to come on back. she does.

“alright…” the doctor sits there in silence as he updates her file for all of five minutes. then he announces, “all done,” and begins to meditate.

so it’s going to be like _that_.

icy clears her throat. “what exactly do you think you’re doing?”

he smiles, eyes still shut. “just settling in for the remaining fifty-five minutes of our session.”

she can’t blame him. the first time she was sent to light rock, she’d sit in his office in silence with her eyes closed and her arms crossed over her chest until the mandatory weekly hour-long session was up. she refused to acknowledge him or the fact she was there at all. so what if she just found out she doesn’t have to die tonight? he doesn’t suspect her approach to treatment will be any different.

which means this will be even harder. he’s not going to pry, so she won’t just have to be compliant; she will have to advocate for herself to even be able to have a session today, a session she does not want.

it feels like pushing past a giant cinder block, getting the words out around her pride. “well that’s unfortunate, because i wanted to talk.”

the doctor gives pause, cracks one eye open. “you’re bluffing.”

she shakes her head, just a little. “i’m not. but if you don’t want to talk to me…” she stands, half hoping he’ll let her go, half hoping he won’t.

it doesn’t feel satisfying when he hurriedly tells her to _stay, stay_ , when he apologizes, says he’s just caught off guard is all, and would she please sit back down so they can get started?

it feels just as hard to do that as it did to come in here in the first place, but it doesn’t take as long for her to manage it.

“what is it you wanted to talk about today, icy?” he asks, looking like he’s just made some historic breakthrough though this has literally less than nothing to do with him at all whatsoever.

she opens her mouth to say—something, she doesn’t know—but nothing happens.

it’s like there’s a hand clawing at her throat, forbidding her from doing something so _weak_. there is a deep disgust churning in her gut, an in-her-bones revulsion that she would even consider doing this. it engulfs her until she thinks she’s going to pass out.

not just thinks it; she really is going to pass out.

“icy?”

“give me a minute.”

inhale; exhale. she is not going to pass out.

but this is still painful.

as it should be. this is what happens when you do all the rituals to make it possible for your blood to be so loud in the first place, to strengthen your spiritual bond to those who went before you. it used to serve as a motivator when she was doing what her predecessors wanted, but now…

now it’s invasive and annoying and it _fucking hurts_ , but she did this to herself, so maybe over time she can undo it. she doesn’t know. what she does know is she can’t go on like this. not anymore.

*

something has to change.

*

she doesn’t think it’ll work, nor does she think she should have to do it, nor does she trust this man’s _credentials_. but bloom is in her head, gently pushing her hair behind her ear and asking her to _please try_ , so icy fights every ounce of the original coven blood flowing through her veins, _screaming_ that this is beneath her—

and she tries.


End file.
